


Serendipity

by elsiegiselle



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: AU, Drama, F/M, Family Drama, Fluff, Modern AU, Multi, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-01-20 04:55:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 23,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1497436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elsiegiselle/pseuds/elsiegiselle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU. Emma Swan is a bartender at The Wooden Boy. Her roommate, Mary Margaret, attempts to set her up with the widower father of one of her students, and Emma is annoyed: that is, until she realizes that the man could actually be her perfect match. It's all smooth sailing until she realizes that the man's son could actually be the baby she gave up ten years before. Filling a prompt from cstreasure on tumblr (thank you for the wonderful idea, I hope I do it justice!).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Actual prompt that inspired this work: "Modern AU. Killian and his wife Milah adopted Henry when Emma gave him up. Fast forward ten years, Milah’s dead and Emma ends up unintentionally stumbling across her son and his adoptive father. Drama, angst, and a bit of fluff ensues as Emma gets to know them without revealing who she really is, coming to love her son and the man who raised him as his own."
> 
> I hope I did this idea justice, and I hope it's what the person who submitted this prompt hoped for!

“An old fashioned, please,” said the man in the gray suit, not bothering to make eye contact. Oh, how I loathed that. I just couldn’t stand people who wouldn’t look right into the eyes of the people serving them. Really, that was the only thing I disliked about bartending. The weird hours, the belligerent drunks—I could deal with those: I had always been a bit of a night owl, and I had a decent enough rapport with the drunks and could usually talk them down and out, but I knew that I could break a nose or inflict a swift kick to the groin if necessary. People didn’t get belligerent much, anyway, just passionate. I couldn’t really blame them; alcohol did the same thing to me. Mostly, if they weren’t there for casual drinks with friends, they were alone, tired, and exasperated with their lives. They just wanted a little liquid comfort before going home to face whatever else they dealt with when the workday was over.

I only worked weekdays 11pm to 6am, which was simply a result of my longstanding friendship with the owner, August, who I had met in the foster system. He and I met as children, and ended up being handed over to the same rich couple when we were seven. After a month-long trial period, they’d kept him and dumped me back at the orphanage with the excuse that I was too argumentative and stubborn, but August had managed to contact me a few years later and we had been friends ever since.

I never really found a family that suited me until I came to work at August’s bar, which was named The Wooden Boy. He’d been attempting to reference Pinocchio, his favorite book as a child, but most people just read it as some sort of innuendo. Not that August cared. He was perfectly content with his business, the regular clientele, the people who worked for him, and the fact that we were content basically running the show so that he could write his novels (he'd already had three published and was about to go into a final edit of his final draft of the fourth). He just laughed at the name right along with them. It also seemed quite ironic that their competition, a seedy bar downtown, was called The Rabbit Hole, a reference to Alice in Wonderland.

“Are you seeing this guy?” asked Robin, the other bartender, under his breath as he towel-dried a beer stein, nodding toward the man in the suit. “Tell me he didn’t order an Old Fashioned.”

“No, you’re spot on. Clearly, we have found the reincarnation of Don Draper.”

Robin shook his head, a bemused smile across his face. “People in this town watch too much television.”

“Including us, apparently,” I said, dropping two cherries into the drink and sliding it down to the Mad Man, who nodded in thanks. Robin snorted.

"He’s even got the whole broody, deep thing down,” he said, and I couldn’t help but smirk. Working with Robin was always my favorite. He was in his mid-thirties and had grown up in England, moving to Maine after his wife, Marian, passed away. He had wanted his son to grow up with the influence of his wife’s family, who lived here in Storybrooke, since he didn’t have much family of his own. That seemed to be a pattern with August and the people he hired: people who belonged to no one. Robin was the only one with a kid, though. His son, Roland, was four years old, and the apple of Robin’s eye.

“Hey,” Robin said suddenly, “do you think she will come in again?”

“’She’?” It took me a minute. “Madam Mayor? You’ve really got a thing for her, don’t you?”

Robin smiled, which clearly meant that he did, not that his actions didn’t make it obvious enough. No matter how many drinks he had queued up to mix for people, he always stopped to make the Mayor’s first. Emma understood why: the woman was beautiful, intelligent, and sophisticated. Strange, since Robin was more the rugged, firewood-chopping, cabin-in-the-woods sort of guy (in fact, he and Roland lived in a cabin in the woods), but they flirted like crazy every time she came in and had mad chemistry. I hadn’t spoken to her much, but she seemed nice enough, and had consistently ordered apple martinis since the first time she came in.

“What’s not to like?” he asked. “She’s mysterious. I can’t figure her out. But she’s kind. I can see it, deep down. And I think she’s quite lonely.”

“You do have it bad,” I said.

“Says the resident cynic.”

“I’ll stop being cynical when someone gives me a reason to.” I started to wipe down the counter.  
“What about Mary Margaret and David?” he asked, referring to my schoolteacher roommate and her longtime boyfriend.

I shook my head. “They don’t count. They have one of those fairy tale romances, one in a million. Those don’t happen to just anyone. They aren’t just regular people.”

“What on earth are you talking about?” Robin asked with a hearty laugh.

“Never mind,” I said. I didn’t want to get into the semantics of Mary Margaret and David’s storybook romance. Met in high school, went to prom together, fell madly in love, but swore to live independently for a while so that they could grow and mature into an adult relationship. Went to colleges in different parts of the state, maintained the long distance relationship until they graduated and managed to both get jobs in Storybrooke, and then began to date just like any other adult couple, and it was only a matter of time before an engagement was announced. Basically, they’d done everything right, and deep down, I envied them a great deal. But I wasn’t about to let Robin know that.  
It was time to close down, and luckily Robin had already washed out all the glasses and August had already done all the counting so that we could get out earlier. Sure enough, shortly after Don Draper-wannabe left, August came out looking satisfied. “Another good night for The Wooden Boy,” he announced. “Now let’s get out of here.”

It was Thursday night—well, technically, it was six o’clock Friday morning—and I only had one more night of work before the weekend. I bundled up in my favorite red jacket and said goodbye to my coworkers before heading out to my car, a vintage yellow VW Beetle, my prized possession. It had been the first big thing I purchased after getting a job and an apartment and I loved it dearly, even though the air conditioning and stereo didn’t work: at least the heater did. The car roared to life, the engine’s steady rumble a comfort, and I started the ten-minute drive back to the loft just in time to catch the sunrise.

Mary Margaret was already awake, showered and dressed for work when I got home around a quarter past six. She had a cup of hot cocoa—complete with whipped cream and a cinnamon stick, our favorite way to drink it—waiting for me at my seat at the dining room table, and greeted me warmly. Mary Margaret was easily the kindest soul I knew. She was gentle, kind to everyone, and never raised her voice. Not only that, but she was beautiful, with smooth porcelain skin, a petite figure, warm brown eyes and black hair she kept in a pixie cut. She was truly beloved by all who knew her, and she always, always had a cup of cocoa waiting for me when I got home from work.

We had met when I first moved to Storybrooke, by pure chance. I had just moved from Boston, renting a room at the local inn and I saw her walking down the street and asked her where the nearest restaurant was, and she had said she was just on her way there and could show me. That led to friendly conversation, which led to eating dinner together (with David, of course), and by the end of the month she’d asked me if I wanted to move into the loft she’d been renting because it was so empty when she was there alone. It was all history from there.

“How was work?” she asked, as she always did, not out of habit but because she genuinely cared.

“It was good. Quiet night. Thursdays are usually pretty easy,” I said, taking a sip of the cocoa. “Man, that is good. Thank you.”  
“Of course,” she said, sitting down at the table with her breakfast: a blueberry muffin, a vanilla yogurt, a few strawberries, and a strong cup of black tea.

“Today’s career day, right?”

“Right,” she said. “I’m looking forward to it; it’s the easiest day of the year for me.” She then covered her mouth as if she’d just said something downright naughty. I laughed.

“Oh! I forgot to ask, do you mind if David comes to dinner with us tonight?”

“You know I don’t mind.”

“Just making sure. I don’t want to be one of those women who has to bring her significant other everywhere.”

“Don’t worry, I’d let you know if you were, believe me,” I said, and she laughed.

“That’s what I love about you, Emma. You just cut right through the bologna,” she said, finishing off her yogurt. We proceeded to chitchat while she finished her breakfast, and then she was off, travel mug filled with tea in hand, to work. Our days typically went this way: I’d get home from work, have breakfast with her, sleep while she was at work, and then spend the afternoon with her before heading to work at eleven when she went to bed. It was a perfect schedule, really.

I finished my cocoa, washed out my mug, and had a quick bowl of cereal before showering, changing into pajamas, brushing my teeth and washing off my makeup. I climbed the stairs to my bedroom—Mary Margaret had the downstairs bedroom, mine was in the loft—and fell down flat on the bed, with all of its soft blue and white blankets. I snuggled under them, falling asleep easily against the cool, fluffy pillows.

\-----

_The ship rocked violently against the storm, waves splashing up onto the deck so that they were ankle-deep in water._

_“Emma!” the man with blue eyes was yelling, his voice rough and ragged as he attempted to get to me, the tumult knocking him down and away any time he tried. “Emma, hang on.”_

_The ropes burned my hands. With the way my knuckles ached, I couldn’t hold on much longer, and I knew it, no matter how much I didn’t want to believe it._

_“Emma, darling, please,” he begged, reaching for me, before I was thrown into the sea, waves crashing over me, pulling me down to the icy depths._

I awoke with a start, clutching at my pillows, and looked around the room. It took me a moment to realize that I was indeed fine, safe in my own bed. I got up shakily, and went downstairs to get a glass of water. Sunlight filtered in through the sheer white curtains Mary Margaret kept on the windows, and I suddenly felt very thankful for the blackout curtains I had in my room.

It had been the third time I’d had the dream of the shipwreck. I had no idea where it had come from, or why I kept dreaming of it, or who the man with blue eyes was, but I was sure it had to mean something. Why would I dream the same thing more than once if it didn’t? I stared at the glass of water, not sure if I wanted to drink it after having a dream about drowning, but went ahead and downed it before heading back upstairs and to bed.


	2. Chapter 2

“No!” Mary Margaret gasped with a laugh.

“Yes! I’m one-hundred percent serious,” David was saying, a giant smile on his face, “and I informed her that the dog is male, and she just said that males could stand to groom and accessorize, too.”

“I never got the whole ‘dress up your dog’ thing. Those poor animals,” I said, taking a sip of the beer I’d been nursing the past half hour. David, Mary Margaret and I were out to dinner at a local diner called Granny’s, sipping on beer (or, in Mary Margaret’s case, white wine) and waiting for their dinner.

“Oh, I totally agree. It almost seems cruel,” David said with a laugh, looking like some stock photo of Handsome Man Laughing With Beer. “So, how was career day?” he asked Mary Margaret, who smiled.

“It went really well! The careers were all very diverse and I think the students really enjoyed it. There was one boy named Henry, actually, who I was a little worried about. His dad works on the fishing boats that go out and catch lobsters and has to work quite a lot to make ends meet, and Henry lost his mother when he was very young so Henry seemed a little glum because he had assumed his dad couldn’t come, but his father made sure to take time off work to come in, which was apparently a surprise for Henry. That’s a good parent.”

I shuddered. “Ugh, lobsters. So creepy. Those pinschers…”

“Oh I agree. But it’s fascinating stuff, the way that they catch them, the special way they have to handle them so they don’t get pinched. And he was _very_ handsome.” Mary Margaret said, eyeing me, even going so far as to wink.

“Oh. No. No,” I said, almost whiney. “You are not going to try and set me up.”

“I would never,” Mary Margaret said mischievously. I scowled.

“He seems nice,” David said.

“Wait a second, you’re in on this, too?” I asked him. Mary Margaret shot him a look, but my glare was a lot scarier.

“Mary Margaret may or may not have called me from the school to tell me about him. And I may or may not have just dropped in under the guise of picking up Mary Margaret from work so that I could meet him and ‘approve of him.’” He made air quotation marks.

“Oh, great.” I rolled my eyes, just in time for our food to arrive.

“Hey Emma,” said Ruby, a waitress at Granny’s who also worked at The Wooden Boy on Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights. She was definitely easy to work with, and brought in a ton of people with her good looks, skimpy clothing, and flirtatious manner. She had customers eating out of the palm of her hand the second she walked in the door. I had to admire her for it; I certainly didn’t have an ounce of that charm.

“Hey Ruby. How are you?”

“I'm good! Hey, can I catch a ride to work again?” She usually did on Fridays, and I didn’t mind since I enjoyed Ruby’s company and she was right on my way, anyway.

“Sure. Definitely too cold out there for walking.”

“Thank you; you’re a lifesaver,” she said. “Can I get you guys anything else?”

“I think we’re all set,” I said, glancing at David and Mary Margaret, who nodded and thanked Ruby before she walked off.

“So, about Killian—“ Mary Margaret began again.

“Who?” I was already opening the glass ketchup bottle, shaking it beside my fries.

“The guy. The dad. The handsome fisherman.”

“His name is Killian? What kind of name is that?” Still shaking.

“A perfectly good one.”

“Nope. I don’t want to hear anymore. I am perfectly capable of finding a suitable person on my own if I should ever feel inclined to do so.” The ketchup glooped out all at once in one giant heap, and I groaned. “I _hate_ these damn ketchup bottles. Who the hell thought that these were a good idea?”

David and Mary Margaret were eyeing each other as if coming to some silent agreement that my lack of love life was some tragic affliction and the cause of all of my frustration at inanimate objects.

“What?” I snapped.

“Nothing,” they said in unison, focusing on their dinners.

 ----- 

It was freezing by the time I went to pick up Ruby, and still she came out wearing the mini-est of mini skirts and a black bomber jacket. _Girl has tenacity,_ I thought. She got into the passenger seat and shivered hard. “Man, it is fucking freezing out there.”

“No kidding. There’s a blanket in the back if you want it,” I said, and she grabbed it off the back seat, putting it over her bare legs.

“So, can I ask?”

“Ask what?” I pulled away from the curb.

“Are you, Mary Margaret, and David fighting?”

“No. They were just being annoying. Trying to set me up with some ‘handsome single dad’ type.”

“Robin?”

“No, god no, not him. Some guy named Killian. I mean, what the hell kind of name is Killian?”

“It’s kind of a hot name. Sounds like some kind of rock guitarist. Or a pirate.”

“Arr,” I said with a laugh. “Actually, he is a fisherman.”

“You’re shitting me.”

I shook my head, and she laughed heartily. “But you don’t want to be set up with an _actual pirate?”_ she asked playfully, as if I was missing out on some great deal.

“Obviously not. I don’t _need_ to be set up. Just because I’m not dating anyone doesn’t mean I _want_ to be dating anyone.”

“Here here,” Ruby said. “Why get tied down and have to fill the demands of some idiot who’s just gonna end up a huge fucking disappointment anyway? Mary Margaret’s got the only endgame guy in town and I don’t think she realizes it.”

“She’s a strong believer in happily ever after’s,” I agreed. “God love her. But really, haven’t I made it explicitly clear? If I wanted a boyfriend, I’d have one, no problem. Plus, he has a ten-year-old kid. No thank you, I am not mother material.” I definitely knew that one for sure.

“This is why I love you, Emma. We are cut from the same cloth.”

“Here here,” I said as we pulled up to the curb in front of The Wooden Boy.

The place was already pretty full, and the moment Ruby came out it seemed like the barstools filled right up. I was filling up pint after pint of beer and handing them out, while Ruby and Robin handled all the cocktails. The place was loud, but not unpleasantly so: people were happy, celebrating the end of the work week. Robin seemed to be keeping an eye out for his lovely Mayor Mills, but she didn’t show, and he was terrible at masking his disappointment every time the door opened, blowing in a gust of cold air and everyone that wasn't the Mayor.

Ruby, on the other hand, was doing her usual flirtatious moves, and earned more tips than Robin and I combined. She had just started saving up for a car, so of course she was really laying it on thick, but at the rate she was going she’d probably have enough money for a nice used car in a matter of weeks. She was certainly impressive.

By the time I got home, I was absolutely exhausted, and Mary Margaret was staying at David’s, so I went straight to bed, not even bothering to wash my makeup off or put on pajamas, throwing my jeans over the back of my desk chair and falling asleep practically the instant my head hit the pillow. I had the same dream, again, waking up when I hit the water, and I stared up at my ceiling for a good hour before I finally was able to fall back asleep: just long enough to decide to pay Archie a visit the following day.


	3. Chapter 3

Archie Hopper was the town shrink. He seemed to be friends with just about everyone and frequented Granny’s diner, which was right across the street from his private office. The office was comfortable and welcoming, which definitely put you right at ease. He kept shorter hours on Saturdays, but kindly fit me in for the last session of the day. At 1pm sharp, I walked into his office, and straightaway he offered me a cup of tea. I accepted, and we sat down.

“So, what did you want to talk about today?” Archie had such a casual style, it almost felt as if you were just talking to a friend, rather than stuck in what was essentially a psychoanalytical interrogation room.

“Everything is good, really. I’m happy and there’s nothing actually wrong, I’ve just been having some weird dreams. You’re trained in all that, right? Dream analysis?” I asked, and he nodded.

“Why don’t you describe the dreams for me, in as much detail as you can recall.”

“Well, it’s actually just one dream… I keep having it over and over, which is obviously odd. But in the dream, I’m on this boat. Well, I guess it’s a ship. So I’m on this ship, and we’re sailing just fine, and then suddenly it’s stormy, and I’m hanging onto these ropes, and the sea is just churning like crazy. And there’s this man… I don’t know him, but he has black hair and blue eyes, and he just keeps yelling at me to hold on. He’s really worried about me, it’s like he knows me and cares about me. But he can’t get to me, because the waves are rocking the ship too hard, and he falls and reaches out to me, and my hands give and I fall into the water and sink down below the waves. And then I wake up.”

“That sounds very intense.”

“What do you think it means?”

“Well, the sea is often represents our emotions. Generally, it means that you are feeling rejuvenated, powerful, and unhindered, but the sea’s roughness indicates some emotional turmoil, but that you are doing your best to work through it. Drowning, however, can indicate that you are feeling a bit emotionally overwhelmed. Do you feel emotionally overwhelmed?”

“Not really… I don’t know.”

“Tell me, do you die in the dream?”

“I don’t actually know. I always wake up right after I’m pulled under. But I would assume drowning would come after. I don’t see how I’d survive that.”

“Okay, well, we’ll assume for the time being that you don’t drown. You said that in the dream you’re holding onto a rope?”

“Yes.”

“Ropes are often representative of our relationships with others. You don’t know the man in the dream, but he could represent someone in your life, or even a combination of people.”

Black hair and blue eyes… “Mary Margaret and David. Her hair, his eyes. Maybe them?”

“That could be. Your bond with them is very strong.”

“They’re the closest thing I've ever had to family,” I said.

“Well, if this man in the dream does represent them, it could be them trying to help you, trying to protect you from something.”

 _Oh boy. Help me find a date. Really?_ I suppressed a groan, and nodded instead. “Sounds like them.”

“Essentially, the dream amounts to you dealing with some emotional turmoil. The sea, the ship, the storm, the sinking… all of it shows that something is weighing you down. And perhaps this person is trying to save you from it. And if you’re not dealing with anything big right now… perhaps you should prepare yourself.”

\-----

It was a lot to think about, especially that cryptic bit at the end, but Archie had signed me off with a prescription to go out to the docks and spend some time with the sea: maybe it would give me answers. It sounded a little hokey, but since I didn’t have plans and didn’t feel like dealing with Mary Margaret and David (even though I knew they meant well), I figured _why not?_ I went by the loft to change into something warmer (it was always very cold at the docks) and then drove down toward the water, stopping off at Granny’s to grab a coffee to go.

The tide was low, which I had to admit was a relief. There was something soothing about the creakiness of the docks and the smell of the sea air, even the fishy bits. I found a spot at the end of one of them and parked it on a weathered wooden bench, staring out at the water. The day was nice, the sky blue and littered with fluffy white clouds. Sunlight sparkled on the surface of the water. There was only one boat out that I could see, a little fishing boat floating peacefully about two hundred feet away.

Setting me up with a guy who had a kid? What was she thinking? I had a bad history with kids... a bad history with families, period. I’d had my chance at a family once, but I’d known then what I know today: I couldn’t be a mother. I’d never had one, how the hell was I supposed to know what to do, how to handle a kid without screwing them up forever? No way did I need all that pressure, let alone a boyfriend, to make my life difficult. I liked what I had going: work at The Wooden Boy, an active social life, a comfortable living space, a car that ran… what more did I need? Why were they so certain that anything was missing from my life, keeping me from feeling fulfilled?

Archie said the dream meant I was feeling emotional turmoil, but with how little I let myself feel it was hard to tell sometimes. I didn’t feel like I was dealing with anything particularly trying. I had my job, my friends, my health… I certainly didn’t want for anything.

It was true, though, that I thought of what had happened every day. So many years had passed since that whole ordeal, but the memories were so strong it could have been a matter of months. I could still remember his face, the mischievous twinkle in his brown eyes, his husky voice, all his promises. I could still remember how sick I felt when I realized he had deserted me, that he was letting me take the fall for his crimes, the things that he had stolen, and that I was going to jail. I still remember the way I sat on that thin mattress, staring straight ahead in my cell, holding the positive pregnancy test in my hands as if somehow, that would make everything all real. Most of all, though, I remembered the sound of the baby’s— _my_ baby’s—cries, just before they took him away, just as I’d thought best.

I realized, then, that I was crying. I’d been thinking too much again, thinking too much about the past, dwelling on whatever it was—guilt, regret? It was hard to say. I had thought that I was giving the little baby boy his best chance, I had hoped and even prayed that it was the right decision, but I had been in the foster system. I knew how it went, and I knew that even there, there was no guarantee that he was okay, that he had a home and was loved. All of my guilt and regret blurred together into something that just kept the tears coming, and it was a few minutes until I could get it together, wiping my gloves over my eyes, taking sips of coffee to distract myself.

“Hey,” came a child’s voice.

“Henry, don’t.” A man’s voice.

But it was too late. The little boy was already sitting beside me on the bench, swinging his legs that were too short to touch the ground. I looked down at him, stunned.

“Are you okay?” he asked. He was a cute little thing, with brown hair and brown eyes, a light dappling of freckles across his nose and cheeks. He was bundled up in a black peacoat and a red and gray scarf.

“I’m fine, kid, thanks.”

“You were crying.”

“No I wasn’t.” _Lying to a kid? Really, Emma?_

The man, who I presumed was the father, came up to us. “I’m so sorry,” he said. He had an English accent that reminded me of Robin’s. “Henry’s a nosey child."

"Hey!" Henry said, clearly offended. The man mussed the boy's hair.

"Are you all right?" the man asked, kindly. "Is there anything I can help you with?”

“No, thanks,” I said, finally looking up at him, a sense of déjà vu washing over me as I took in the black hair, ruffled by the sea, the blue eyes so deep you could practically drown in them. _No. No fucking way_.

“Henry, apologize.”

“I’m very sorry, ma’am,” the boy said, with the most rehearsed pathetic-child face she’d ever seen. “I didn’t mean to be nosey, I just saw that you were crying and wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Well, that’s very sweet, kid-- Henry. I’m Emma,” I said. Okay, so I was only being friendly to find out if this was the guy they’d been trying to set me up with. Did they stalk me? Did they somehow know I was here and send him? What a bunch of crap.

“Nice to meet you, Emma. This is my dad, Killian.”

I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Yes, unusual name, I know.”

“Oh, no, no, it’s not that, I’m sorry,” I said, realizing I was probably coming across as rude. “Don’t mind me; it’s a weird sort of day.”

“Indeed. Well, it’s quite cold and we were about to get some lunch…” He paused a moment. “Would you care to join us? A warm bowl of soup at Granny's really can soothe the soul.”

I almost said yes. Almost. He was making a cute joke and trying to cheer me up. Both of them were way sweeter to me, a strange woman who had clearly been crying just minutes before, than they should have been. But that would make Mary Margaret _way_ too happy (with a side of smug). Of course I couldn’t say yes. This was embarrassing as all hell.

“No, thank you. Don’t let me intrude on your day. Thank you both for your concern,” I said as politely as I could manage, sounding almost robotic.

“No intrusion. If you change your mind, you know where to find us. Pleasure meeting you.”

“You too,” I said as they left, and quickly whipped out my cell phone.

Mary Margaret picked up on the first ring. “Hello?” she sang.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

“What?”

“I just met your ‘Killian.’ Did you set this up?”

“What did you say Emma? You met Killian?” I could practically see her on the other end of the line, sitting somewhere with David, waving frantically at him so he would pay attention to what she was saying. "Where are you?"

“The docks.”

“You went to the docks? He’s a fisherman, Emma; he works at the docks. I told you that at dinner last night.”

“He had the kid with him.”

“Oh he did? Did you like him? Isn’t he sweet?” She was a little too excited.

“He’s lovely,” I said flatly, unamused. “So, you didn’t set this up?”

“How could I _possibly_ have set this up? You’re the one who went to the docks knowing full well that he is a fisherman, just like I told you last night.” Mary Margaret was smiling; I could hear it in her voice. Smug. Dammit. “Either you are subconsciously interested, or it’s just pure, unadulterated serendipity.”

“I’ll bet. Talk to you later,” I said, hanging up with a laugh and an eye roll, polishing off my coffee, standing up, and throwing the cup into the first bin I saw with a bit too much force.


	4. Chapter 4

Okay, so he _was_ cute. I had to admit it, even if it was silently, to myself, in the privacy of my own car. Tall, just scruffy enough to not look messy, dressed well enough (although all four buttons on his Henley had been undone, revealing more chest than small town dads normally bore… not that I was complaining)… but I could not get past the hair and the eyes. Why the _hell_ did a complete stranger look just like the man in my dream? Hell, why did he _sound_ like him?

I shook it off. If my meeting them a mere day after Mary Margaret’s attempts to set me up with him was coincidence, then surely his odd resemblance to the dream man could be chocked up to coincidence as well. None of this fate, “serendipity” crap. All that stuff about fate and destiny was a crock of shit anyway. Soul mates didn’t exist. People just found each other and it coincidentally worked out. Not that my and this Killian person’s coincidence was that kind of coincidence… I needed to stop thinking about this; it was getting too confusing.

I went back to the loft, happy to find that it was still empty, and went upstairs to take a nap. The crying jag had really taken it out of me, and all the rest of what had happened hadn’t helped. I lay down against the pillows, which smelled fresh and clean, and pulled the blankets over me.

God, he was cute.

 _Stop it, Emma,_ I thought, annoyed at myself for being such a schoolgirl about it. It wasn’t like I wasn’t constantly surrounded by attractive men. David was practically a Disney prince, and Robin was working the mountain man and hot dad vibes, and August wasn’t exactly unattractive, even though I’d never thought of him that way… but this guy certainly was my type. Whatever that was. I didn’t have a type, did I? I didn’t think I had. I thought I was indifferent to all of it. Good-looking people are good looking, so what? It’s not like being pretty does the world any good.

But he was pretty. His hair was pretty; his eyes were pretty; his high, defined cheekbones were pretty. He had a good body; it was easy to tell even under all the layers he was wearing to keep warm out on the water. I could safely admit that, right?

“Oh, whatever,” I said aloud. And that was that.

\-----

I decided to go to Granny’s again that night, simply because I didn’t feel like cooking. As I was heading up the walkway to the restaurant, I saw Mayor Mills coming up the sidewalk, heels clacking, so I stopped and waited for her.

“Evening, Madam Mayor.”

“Hello,” she said, recognition crossing her face. “You work at The Wooden Boy, don’t you? You’re one of the bartenders?”

“I do. Emma Swan,” I said, holding my hand out to shake hers. She was wearing the same black gloves as I was.

“It’s nice to meet you. And please, call me Regina,” she said. “Are you meeting someone?”

“No. You?”

“No.” She seemed hesitant to admit it.

“Well, why don’t we eat together then?”

She smiled, surprise lighting her eyes. “That would be lovely.”

We sat down at a booth and one of the waitresses, Ginger, came over to take our drink orders, seeming a little flustered by the mayor’s presence, even though she was a regular at Granny’s. We both ordered hot tea and began to look over the menus.

“You know, this is nice. I may be the mayor, but most people in this town don’t seem to want to be around me. You saw that girl.”

“I think they’re just intimidated. You are a public official, and in charge of, like, everything in Storybrooke.”

“And yet, you don’t seem that way.”

“Well, you may be the mayor, but you’re also a person. Plus, I have a friend who speaks very highly of you.”

Regina’s cheeks flushed. She knew exactly who I was talking about, I realized with a smirk as she raised her menu to partially block her face.

“Which friend might that be?” she asked anyway, trying to sound casual.

“Oh, just one of my coworkers at the Boy.” I matched her casual tone. Shameless, but I couldn’t help it! Robin was my friend, he was clearly smitten with Regina, and he deserved another shot at love after all he’d been through, losing his wife in a car accident.

Ginger returned with the tea then: two tiny metal pots of hot water (surrounded by knitted tea cozies), an assortment of teabags tucked into a rectangular ramekin, a sugar bowl and a bowl of flavored creamers. I picked out a bag of black tea, pouring water over it. Regina did the same.

The rest of the evening was filled with idle chitchat. I came out of it knowing that Regina was definitely smart, definitely lonely, and definitely into Robin. Being mayor didn’t seem to leave much in the way of friends, because people were either intimidated by you, wanted something from you, or assumed you had better things to do. I didn’t make that assumption, and invited her to come out with Mary Margaret, David and I next time, to which she shyly agreed. And if Robin just so happened to show up…

I was good. A lot better at this than Mary Margaret. I drove back to the loft, rushing up the stairs to tell her what had happened, but the moment I walked in the door she was already on me about my close encounter at the docks.

“You’ve got to tell me what happened,” she said. “I’ll make you cocoa. Please.”

She was like an eager puppy. There were a lot of things I could easily say no to, but Mary Margaret saying “please” and attempting to bribe me with cocoa was not one of them.

I groaned. “Fine.”

She made the cocoa while I went up and changed into sweatpants and a loose blue knit sweater. I went back downstairs and she was already at the table, two mugs in front of her. I sat down, curling one leg under me.

“So?” she prompted.

“So, I went to talk to Archie about those weird dreams I’ve been having.”

“You’re still having those?” There was concern in her tone. I nodded.

“Basically he said that I was overwhelmed, dealing with emotional turmoil, blah blah. You know, all that stuff. So he told me I should go to the docks to ‘spend some time with the sea,’ because maybe it would give me answers.”

Mary Margaret looked about ready to burst. I knew what she was thinking. _You went to the sea for answers and it gave you Killian! Soulmates!_ Etc. Maybe I should have worded it differently. I took a sip of cocoa before going on.

“So I was thinking about stuff, and I just started crying out of nowhere.”

“Oh no,” she cooed. I continued before she could say anything.

“So I stop crying, and then this kid sits down next to me, and asks me if I’m okay. And then his dad comes up and apologizes to me, says his kid is nosey, ruffles the kid’s hair, does cute dad stuff.”

“Cute!” Mary Margaret says. “Sorry, go on.”

“And then he introduces himself as Killian, and asks me if he can help me with anything, and when I say no, he invites me to go to lunch with them.”

“What?” I’m certain she’s about to explode.

I took another sip of cocoa, very slowly, just to keep her in suspense, and then set the mug down. “And I said no, thank you, and they left, and that’s when I called you.”

“You said _no_?”

“Could you blame me? I’d just been crying. My face was probably all blotchy and gross. It was really embarrassing.”

“But he invited you to lunch! Clearly he didn’t mind.”

“He invited me to lunch because he thought I was a strange, emotionally unstable woman and probably was just trying to make sure I wasn’t about to fling myself into the ocean.” I went back to my cocoa.

“Emma—“ she said, then stopped, thinking better of it.

“What?” I asked.

“You always think people have these weird ulterior motives. Sometimes they really are just kind. Sometimes they really do just care about strangers.”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I was embarrassed. And plus, if I’m going to be asked out I’d rather it not be out of pity.”

Mary Margaret nodded. “I’m sorry, Emma.”

I looked up at her. “For what?”

“For looking at this the wrong way. You just told me you were crying.”

I scoffed. “Please, that was nothing.”

“I know you, Emma. You don’t cry about nothing. Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?” 

 _Not unless I want to start crying again._ “I’m okay. Really. It’s no big deal.”

“Okay,” she said. “Well, if you want to talk about it, you know where I live.” She reached over and squeezed my hand, giving me a reassuring smile. I loved the way she knew exactly how to deal with things like this. She never pressured me to tell her about things that upset me, things from my past. She let me come to her. I had told her and David about my ex, the baby, everything. They knew all of it, and they knew how painful it was for me to talk about, so neither of them ever brought it up. I was lucky to have friends like them. Even though their attempted matchmaking annoyed me, I knew they were doing it out of love, because they wanted me to have someone the way they had each other. But I wasn’t worried about all that. I didn’t feel unfulfilled in that department, or like I couldn’t be happy until I had someone I loved romantically who returned the favor. I was happy with my life, with my job.

But I couldn’t help but wonder, as I lay in bed that night, what my life would have been like had I kept that little baby. Had I moved to Storybrooke as a single mother, wanting to escape city life and wanting my kid to grow up in a safe little town where everyone knew everyone. Would I still have met Mary Margaret? Would I be a bartender, or would I be doing something else? Did the “what if’s” really matter?

Of course they did.


	5. Chapter 5

Okay, it had to be a setup.

It was Monday night, and I was working, minding my own business, and then suddenly, there’s Killian at the bar, all blue eyes and smiles, talking animatedly to Robin as if they’d been friends for ages while Robin poured him a rum on the rocks.

“Henry is staying at his aunt’s tonight, so I can't sleep,” Killian was explaining. “Don’t really know what to do with myself when he’s not around.”

Eavesdropping? Had I stooped so low? What if he _saw_ me? I took a carton of used beer steins into the back room and began to wash them. I was hiding. I, a twenty-eight-year-old woman, was _hiding_. But why the hell was he popping up everywhere all of a sudden?

_Serendipity_ , I could practically hear Mary Margaret say, and I rolled my eyes.

The door to the back room opened and Robin poked his head in. “Swan, what are you doing back here?”

I waved him in, and he obeyed, the door swinging shut behind him. “How do you know that guy?”

“The English widower father? I couldn’t possibly guess,” he said with a laugh.

“Fair point.”

“In all seriousness, we met in a support group about three, four years ago. Tell me, why do you feel the need to hide from him?”

“I’m not hiding.”

“You are so.”

_Dammit. No fooling Robin,_ I thought, glaring up at him. “Well…”

“Oh come on, Swan. You _have_ to tell me now.”

I sighed. “Mary Margaret tried to set me up with him. I said no.”

“You did? Why? Have you looked at him?”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Yes. I just don’t like setups. And then the next day I had a very awkward, borderline humiliating encounter with him and his son and now… I just want to forget it ever happened. But it seems like he’s everywhere.”

“Well, this is quite a small town. Perhaps you should make amends now. May make it easier on you, as you're bound to run into him again. We need to get back out there, come on.” Robin seized my arm, dragging me back out. I managed to grab a towel before the door shut behind me so I could wipe the soap suds off my hands.

“Killian, you’ve met Emma, haven’t you?” Robin said much too loudly, a giant grin on his face. I could have killed him.

Killian smiled at me. “We have met. Hello.”

“Hey,” I said back, still anxiously fiddling with the towel before Robin snatched it from me. He froze suddenly, and I followed his gaze and caught sight of the mayor, who was unwinding a burgundy pashmina scarf as she sat down at the corner barstool. Robin looked at me like a deer in the headlights.

“Go,” I said, and he nodded, taking a breath and going over to her, suddenly cool and collected the moment Regina looked up at him.

“God, he really likes her, doesn’t he?” Killian asked, and it took me a moment to realize he was talking to me.

“Oh! Yeah… it’s kind of sweet, in a sappy sort of way.”

There was some awkward laugher followed by a much more awkward silence.

“So uh—“

“About yester—“

We both stopped, having attempted to talk at the same time, smiling shyly at each other. _Shyly? I wasn't shy. Why was I acting shy?_

“Ladies first,” Killian said, and I could have sworn there was an air of flirtation in his voice. I wondered if it was a side effect of the rum. His glass was empty, save for a partially melted ice cube, so it was very possible, depending on his tolerance.

“I just wanted to apologize for yesterday. I was dealing with some stuff. I swear I don’t regularly have crying spells on the docks.”

“I didn’t think so, otherwise I’d have seen you there before,” he said with a laugh. “Plus, you don’t seem the type.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “I don’t? What have you heard?”

“Miss Blanchard described you as quite the tough lass.”

_Of course she did._ “Miss Blanchard has definitely made this situation even more embarrassing than it already was. More rum?” I asked him, grabbing myself a glass and some ice, too.

“Please,” he said, gesturing to his glass. I poured him more, poured myself a little, too. “Here’s to awkward situations,” Killian said, holding up his glass. _Okay, he’s definitely flirting._ I clinked my glass with his, making eye contact as pure habit after being told of that old “bad sex for ten years” superstition, and took a drink. The sweet, spiced liquid seemed to warm me to my core.

The bar was mostly empty save for Killian and Regina (and of course Robin and I). A few regulars were sitting at a booth, sharing a large bowl of pub mix and a pitcher of beer, which was still half-full, so it was safe for me to keep talking to Killian. I looked over at Robin and Regina, who were laughing at something, her eyes closed, him looking at her with all the love in the world. I wondered what that felt like. I knew what it felt like at eighteen, but even the smallest bits of affection feel magical at eighteen, even when there’s no real love in them—just infatuation. But at this age, nearing thirty, with years of experience and empty kisses under your belt, I really wondered what it felt like to have someone who looked at you as if you were magic.

_Too cheesy, Swan,_ I thought, taking a rather large sip of rum that brought me firmly back to reality.

“I think they’re rather nice together,” Killian noted.

“Me too. He’s been a lot happier since this whole thing started,” I said, waving a hand in Robin and Regina's general direction just as she reached forward to touch Robin's shoulder, laughing at something he'd said. “Not that he wasn’t happy before, but, you know… after that sort of heartbreak…” I realized too late that Killian had been in a similar situation to Robin’s. I didn’t want him to feel awkward.

“Aye,” Killian said. “It’s the worst sort of pain. I understand it more than I’d like to.”

We both took sips of our drinks, and I decided a lighter subject change was in order. “So, your son is in Mary Margaret’s—Miss Blanchard’s class?”

“He is. He loves school because of her. Could barely get him to take interest in it before this year. He had some trouble with grades in the last few, but I think he’s regained his stride. She has quite a way with them.”

“Absolutely. The woman was born to teach.”

“She gave Henry a book of fairy tales, did you know that?” he asked, and I shook my head. “Beautiful, leatherbound, with artwork on every other page. He was sitting alone, feeling discouraged… well, that’s how she put it. And she handed it to him, said it was the ultimate tool for reminding us to hold out hope for things to get better, told him to keep it and not tell the other students. Showed favoritism, she said. That alone was enough to make him start trying harder in class. He’s had straight A’s ever since.” Killian looked so proud. It was so good to see that sort of parental love.

“That’s great,” I said, meaning it. He looked up at me then, our eyes meeting for a brief moment before I looked down. I could still feel his eyes on me. “He seems like a great kid.”

“The best,” Killian said. “A bit nosey at times, but I couldn’t have asked for better.”

“Were you two out fishing the other day?”

“Yeah. He loves being out on the water.”

“I’ll bet.”

“And you?”

I looked up to see him eyeing me quizzically. “Me?”

“Do you enjoy being out on the water?”

“No," I said a little too emphatically, then backpedaled. "Well, I don’t know. I kind of have this thing about large bodies of water.” _No need to throw in the bit about having a recurring dream that involves me drowning._

“A ‘thing,’ huh?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah. Not having much control over the ocean doesn’t really sit well with me.”

“Ah, but you see, that’s half the fun,” he said. “Being out in the open water, never knowing what dangers lurk around every bend!” He was teasing me.

“Very funny,” I said dryly, with a smirk. “Have… have you ever been out at sea during a storm?” I asked, not believing the words coming out of my mouth. _Way to make yourself sound like a nervous nellie_.

He didn't seem to judge. “Aye, when I was in the Navy. Bloody terrifying, but thrilling.”

“But never in your fishing boat?”

“I’m a lot more careful now. Working with a smaller vessel, you have to be. You have to really understand the tides.”

“Sounds like you’ve got it down to a science.”

“Aye,” he said, taking the last sip of rum. “I could show you, if you’d like. Tomorrow afternoon.”

“I don’t know…”

“Please, you’ll be safe with me. I’m a professional.” He had a mischievous look on his face, a twinkle in his eye. "Take a leap of faith."

I smirked. It was hard to argue with that. I wasn't one to turn down any sort of challenge. _Dreams, shmeams._ “Okay.”

“Okay?” he double-checked eagerly.

“Okay.”


	6. Chapter 6

“It’s not even a date. It’s just a fishing lesson. With an instructor who happens to be really attractive.”

“Of course it’s a date,” Mary Margaret said with a dismissive wave. “What about the blue blouse?”

“We’re going to be out on the water; I feel like that's too much blue,” I said, and took it down from the doorway, where we had hung a bunch of possible tops and were narrowing down my options. It was now down to a burgundy collared shirt, a green v-neck blouse, or a white turtleneck sweater.

“I’m thinking the turtleneck might be your best bet,” Mary Margaret said. “It’s going to be cold out there, you don’t want to spend the whole night with your teeth chattering.”

“But a turtleneck isn’t really that sexy.”

“So it _is_ a date.”

I sighed. “I don’t know what it is.”

The front door opened, and there was David, with three coffees and a paper sack that was presumably filled with baked goods. “Hello… well, what’s going on in here?”

“Emma has a date with Killian,” Mary Margaret said, standing on tiptoe to kiss David’s cheek as he handed her a coffee, then handed one to me.

“It’s not a date,” I insisted, warming my hands on the cardboard cup.

“You don’t say!” David said with a smile, completely ignoring what I’d said.

“He’s taking her out on his boat for a sunset sail," Mary Margaret gushed.

“It’s not a sailboat, it’s a fishing boat.”

“Nuance. Nevertheless, a date.”

“We’re going fishing, Mary Margaret. How does that qualify as a date?”

David eyed his girlfriend. “She raises a fair point.”

“Oh, come on. Would you just take a girl you spent a half hour flirting with out on your fishing boat at the most romantic time of evening for something that _wasn't_ a date?" She turned to me. "Wear the turtleneck.”

“But—“

“If it’s not a date, as you claim, it doesn’t matter whether you look sexy. He already knows what you look like. Just be warm. You don’t want to be shivering all night.”

“Although it does encourage cuddling,” David offered, and I groaned.

“Gross. You two are too mushy.” I sounded like a twelve-year-old.

“Love _is_ mushy, whether you like it or not,” David said, putting an arm around Mary Margaret’s shoulders, and I wrinkled my nose.

“What the hell am I doing?” I asked, mostly rhetorically.

“You’ll be fine. Now get dressed. Your hair and makeup are good,” Mary Margaret assessed, grabbing the white sweater and shoving it at me. I went in the bathroom to change, pulling the sweater on over a white camisole, changing from sweatpants to dark wash jeans, fluffing my hair a bit, and making sure my makeup was good before going back out to get their approval.

Mary Margaret re-curled a lock of my hair around her finger to smooth it, let it go, then took a step back to look at me, a small smile spreading across her face. She shared a glance with David, and they both nodded.

“Good,” David said.

“Really good,” she assured me.

“You don’t think I look like a marshmallow?”

“Just wear your red jacket over it. And add one of your knit caps. And those brown leather lace-up boots,” Mary Margaret said, and I nodded, going up to my room and grabbing a blue knit cap, warm socks, and my boots. When I came downstairs, Mary Margaret smiled even wider.

“You look beautiful,” she said, her final verdict.

“Thanks,” I said, suddenly feeling a bit bashful, and a little like a Barbie doll. I supposed that wasn’t necessarily a bad way to feel, it just wasn’t something I was accustomed to. I finished off my coffee while they both gave me pep talks about how it was going to be fine, I was going to have fun, etc, and after I brushed my teeth and reapplied lip balm, I put on my red jacket and was ready to go.

“Wish me luck,” I said.

“Good luck,” they said in unison, and I was out the door, keys in hand.

                  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is so short, but I assure you the next one will make up for it! ;)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to make a little disclaimer that I know very little about fishing, and everything I do know I learned from youtube and wikihow the day I wrote this chapter. If you're a fabulous fisherman (or woman!) and there are any huge, glaring errors, please let me know and I'll try and fix them! Thanks!

The sun was low on the horizon and would be setting by the time we got out on the water. I was already pulling up to the curb near the docks when I realized I hadn’t brought any gloves with me, but it was too late to go back now: Killian was standing outside the cannery; he’d already spotted me and was walking over. To my surprise, Henry was there, too, all bundled up, holding a large picnic basket.

_Okay, so, not a date._

I couldn’t tell if I was disappointed or relieved, but whatever feelings I may have had in the moment were replaced with embarrassment when Killian opened my car door and I realized I had just been sitting there like an idiot.

“Evening, milady,” he said with a smile, looking handsome in a long black coat.

“Hey,” I said back, getting out of the car and locking it up. “Hey kid,” I said to Henry.

“Hey Emma,” he said casually, as if he’d known me forever. “Dad made lasagna.”

“Did he?” I asked, looking at Killian, who looked away bashfully.

“Yep,” Henry said. “It’s the only thing he knows how to make.”

It was the sort of blunt honesty only a child could deliver, leaving Killian with an embarrassed grimace, and I found myself laughing. “Need help carrying that, kid? It looks heavy.”

“I got it.”

“The lad insisted on carrying it,” Killian explained quietly as Henry led the way to the harbor, lugging the large basket.

“I see,” I said. I was glad the kid was here, honestly. It took a lot of the pressure off. I hadn’t been around many kids, but they were easy enough to figure out. And it was a lot easier to keep a conversation going between three people than it was between two.

The docks creaked beneath them. Killian stopped in front of a small blue and white fishing boat with JOLLY ROGER painted on the side. _All the fairytale references in this town are getting out of hand_ , I thought fondly _, but I guess in a town called Storybrooke it’s to be expected!_ Killian reeled the Jolly Roger closer to him with the ropes that secured it and stepping one foot firmly inside the boat, the other one planted on the dock. He took the basket from Henry, setting it down inside the boat, then hoisted Henry over. I hesitated.

“Come on,” Killian said, holding a hand out to me. I looked at it, and back up at his face, with his mischievous smile and that twinkle in his eyes that spelled trouble, and I took his hand, letting him help me into the boat. It wobbled slightly, but he kept his grip on my hand until I was steady. “You all right?”

“I’m good.”

“Good,” he said. “Ready, lad?” He called to Henry, who was up in the very small wheelhouse, which you had to climb a short ladder to get to.

“Aye aye, Captain!” Henry shouted enthusiastically, saluting.

"You let the kid drive this thing?” I asked, quiet enough that Henry couldn’t hear.

“He’s got the sea in his blood, Swan,” he said, and when I gave him a skeptical frown, he laughed. “Relax. I taught him years ago. He does it all the time.” He stepped his other foot into the boat and went up to supervise Henry. Sure enough, Henry steered us out into the open water without a hitch, the boat’s engine purring. I stayed out by the stern, holding onto the railing, watching the water as the engine started and the harbor got further and further away. I kept expecting a huge storm any second, but the water was calm. Soon, the boat slowed, the engine turned off, and Killian came down the ladder. He went to the bow and dropped the anchor into the water with a splash, which was attached to a very long chain that had a large reel. The reel spun and spun, then stopped rather suddenly, and the boat eased to stillness.

Henry hopped down the ladder. “Can we eat now, dad?”

“Not yet, my boy. First, we set up the rods, then we eat.”

“But I’m hungry,” Henry whined.

“It’ll only take a minute,” Killian said, shaking his head at me. He handed me a fishing pole, sitting down on the bench beside me. “I may have cheated a bit and got the rods ready. All you have to do is stick the bait—we’re using squid—and the weight on, cast the line off the side, and then stick the rod in one of those holders,” he said, pointing at planks attached to the gunwales that had holes drilled into them.

“We don’t even hold the rod? Fishing is a lot lazier than I expected,” I said, teasing.

“Just you wait until you hook something big, then talk to me about lazy. Now, do as I do with the bait.”

I took a piece of the slimy squid, winding the hook through and around the bait the way he showed me. “Don’t you usually fish with nets?”

“Aye, but this is just for recreation, for the experience. Nets are so unceremonious,” Killian explained, taking my line and looking at the worm on the hook. “Handling a dead squid with not so much as a wrinkled nose… an impressive start. Now add the weight. We won’t catch anything unless the line goes to the floor, since it’s so cold out.”

I did, watching him demonstrate with his own.

“Now we cast the line. Watch Henry.”

Henry was standing, holding the handle of his fishing pole, which was smaller than ours, kid-sized. He grounded himself, and in one swift arm movement, the line whipped out, unraveling as it went, and the weight plunked into the water.

“Well done, lad,” Killian said proudly, standing up and patting Henry’s shoulder, then turned to me. “You think you can manage that, Swan?”

“I don’t know, Henry seems to be a professional,” I said, and Henry grinned at me.

“You can do it, Emma!” he cheered.

“All in the wrist,” Killian advised.

I planted my feet, took a breath, and did my best impression of what Henry had done. My line didn’t go quite as far, but at least I hadn’t made a total fool of myself… and it wasn’t like it really mattered, since the goal was to get the bait down, not out. Regardless, they cheered as if I had just scored a winning touchdown, and I put my pole into one of the holders, taking a bow. “Thank you, thank you.”

“Seems you’re a natural,” Killian said.

“Maybe I just have good teachers,” I replied, making both of them beam at me. Something fluttered inside me… butterflies? Was this what those felt like? Whatever it was, I couldn’t keep the smile off my face.

Killian cast his line and it went the furthest of all, and then we all proceeded to rinse our hands off with a bottle of water and a towel. Henry grabbed a bottle of hand sanitizer from the picnic basket, taking some before passing it around. My hands were freezing, and the water and cold gel of the sanitizer didn’t help, but I didn’t mind. The sun was starting to set, painting the sky various shades of pink, orange, and yellow, making the clouds look like cotton candy. I was surprised at how relaxed I could feel out in the water, now that I’d given it a chance.

Killian and Henry spread out a large quilt on the floor of the boat and, after we all sat down on it, began to unload things from the picnic basket: three mugs, three plates, a Thermos, three plastic bottles of water, a Tupperware container filled with salad, a bottle of raspberry vinaigrette (impressive), and, finally, a larger Tupperware flat filled with lasagna. Killian served the food, Henry passed out utensils, napkins, and water. The thermos was apparently filled with cocoa, as Henry informed me, and would be served after dinner.

The lasagna was good. Everything was good, actually.

“Where’d you learn to make this?” I asked, pointing at the lasagna with my fork.

“My late wife, Milah, taught me. It was her specialty,” he said. I felt a little pang in my gut for accidentally bringing up a sensitive topic, but he didn’t seem to mind talking about her—either that or he was very good at putting on a brave face. “She was a wonderful cook, and never let me set foot in the kitchen when she was concocting something, but she always wanted help with the lasagna because she would make a lot of it at once. Now Henry helps me make it.”

“I’m gonna be a good cook, just like Mom was,” Henry announced. “I already know how to make scrambled eggs, French toast, pancakes, mac and cheese, and lasagna.”

“Quite the repertoire,” I said, genuinely impressed. I was twenty-eight, and had only learned to cook shortly after moving in with Mary Margaret, so a ten-year-old kid who was even allowed to use the stove was impressive.

“Dad always says my breakfast is even better than the ones you get in restaurants, even if he has to make the bacon,” Henry continued excitedly. “He won’t let me do it, because it sizzles too much and can burn you really easily.”

“Good call,” I said. Killian smirked.

We were all about done with our food by then, and Killian made sure nobody wanted seconds before putting all of the dishes into a plastic bag, leaving the mugs and thermos out.

“Dad, I don’t think the fish are biting tonight,” Henry said, disappointed. “I haven’t seen any of the lines tug.”

“Give it time, lad. Why don’t you cast your line at the bow and see if there are any fish up there?”

“Okay!” Henry reeled his line in and ran up to the front of the boat, casting it, then leaning over carefully to look down at the dark water. It seemed we had the back of the boat to ourselves. I rubbed my hands together, trying to warm them up, and Killian took off his gloves, handing them to me. "I've got pockets," he explained when I hesitated. _Very chivalrous. Impressive_. I thought as I put them on, my hands instantly feeling the warmth that had been left over from his.

“Was dinner all right?” he asked.

“Delicious,” I said. “Milah taught you well.”

“Aye, she was a very patient.”

I wanted to ask what had happened to her, but it felt intrusive. I hadn’t told him anything about my past yet, so I certainly didn’t want to go poking around in his. I liked him a lot, though, I could tell already. He’d gotten me out on the water on our first… whatever this was, which was impressive enough.

“I’ve got to say, Emma,” he said suddenly, “you’ve already passed the test.”

“I’m being tested?”

“Indeed. You didn’t even bat an eye when you saw that Henry was with me.”

“Why would I?”

“Most do. Perhaps it’s a skewed way of going about it, but Henry and I are a package deal. I wouldn’t consider dating anyone he didn’t like, or anyone who didn’t like him. He’s all I have, you see.”

“So this was like a trial run? We’re on a bike, and Henry is the training wheels?”

Killian laughed, and I couldn’t help but smile. “That’s a good way to put it. You aren’t angry that I sort of tricked you?”

“I don’t necessarily consider it being tricked. Tricking me would be to say you didn’t have a kid at all,” I said. “I’d much rather have it this way. Henry’s great.”

“He is, isn’t he? I’m incredibly fortunate,” Killian said, watching Henry, who was casting his line again out of sheer impatience, just as something behind us started to rattle. Both of us turned around to see my fishing pole jostling a bit.

“Looks like you’ve hooked something!” Killian said, and we both jumped up. “Grab it!”

I clambered to grab the pole just as Henry ran over. Something definitely was fighting me from down in the water.

“Okay okay,” Killian said, holding my shoulders steady, “quickly pull it back toward you.”

I did.

“Good, good. Okay, now, you just reel it in. If you feel it pulling, just let it, then reel, let it pull, reel… Prevents the line from breaking.”

I did as he instructed, and then, suddenly, there was my catch, hanging from the line, covered in seaweed.

“What is it?” I asked as Killian grabbed it, pulling off the seaweed and throwing it back in the water. “It’s a… it’s a boot.”

Sure enough, it was a laceless black leather boot, or rather the waterlogged leftovers of one.

“What?” Henry yelled, clearly feeling gypped after all the excitement.

Killian looked up at me very seriously. “Well, the good news is that it’ll cook up well.”

Henry and I started to laugh, breaking Killian’s faux seriousness, a smile tugging at his lips. “I’m perfectly serious,” he insisted, “a little lemon juice and some pepper and—“

 _“Daaad!”_ Henry said, sounding equal parts amused and exasperated and shoving Killian’s shoulder. Then Killian began to laugh with us.

By the time we got back to shore, we hadn’t caught a single fish. Henry was very disappointed, but Killian made him feel better by saying even the best fisherman have days where they don’t catch anything, and that it’s not about what you catch, it’s about the process.

“And the company,” he added, turning to wink at me playfully.

 _Oh, boy_ , I thought, feeling those butterflies again. _I'm in big trouble._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fluffiest of the fluff, but I couldn't resist.


	8. Chapter 8

“So? How was it?” Mary Margaret asked the next morning when I got home from work, exactly the way Robin had greeted me when I’d walked into The Wooden Boy earlier. She was sitting at the table, eating a bowl of oatmeal with a cup of coffee, and, as always, there was a cocoa sitting on the table for me. The whipped cream wasn't even melted. How did she do it?

I smirked, taking off my jacket and hanging it up, leaving my boots by the door since they were a bit damp from the fine mist that was coming down outside. “It was good. Really good.”

“Ooh, I’m so glad!” she squealed. I loved her ability to be so enthusiastic first thing in the morning; it was infectious, even though I was very tired from all the excitement and working a rather long shift. “Are you willing to disclose?”

“Oh yeah,” I said, sitting down, curling up a bit to get warm and taking a sip of cocoa. “Thanks for this.”

“Of course!”

“Okay, so it started out a bit… unorthodox. He brought Henry.”

“What? Really?”

“Yep. Apparently he was sort of testing me, to see how I’d react and to see whether Henry and I got along. Which we did. And honestly, it took a lot of the pressure off. He’s a great kid.”

“Isn’t he?”

I went on to tell her about learning to fish, the homemade lasagna, catching the boot, and having Killian lend me his gloves. Mary Margaret “ooh”-ed and “aah”-ed in all the right spots, but then she had to get to work, so I went in to wash my face and brush my teeth before going up to my room, getting into warm pajamas, and going to bed.

 

 -----

 

I had already been awake a few hours and was washing out a cereal bowl when my cell phone rang, Killian’s name displayed brightly on the screen. I couldn’t control the grin that spread across my face, but rolled my eyes at myself for being so silly.

“Hello?” I answered, trying to be nonchalant.

“Afternoon, Emma,” he said. Man, his voice sounded good on the phone. “How are you doing?”

“Great, thanks, and you?”

“I'm doing well, thank you. I just wanted to say I had a great time last night. You’re quite a good sport.”

“I try.”

“So… did you have a good time?” He was nervous. It was almost _too_ endearing.

“I did. Definitely the most… unique date-thing I’ve been on.”

“Is that a good thing? I can’t tell by your voice.”

I laughed. “It’s a good thing. I mean, not all girls get to say they got to stab a dead squid with a fishing hook on their first date.”

That sentence had come out weird. Killian laughed anyway. _God, he_ must _like me._

“So, would you like to do it again? A date, I mean, a real one, in a restaurant, just the two of us?”

Mary Margaret had just walked in the door and saw that I was on the phone, watching me closely as she hung up her coat and scarf.

“Yeah, sure,” I said as coolly as I could, widening my eyes at Mary Margaret, who gave me a thumbs up.

“All right… Saturday night, seven o’clock, Granny’s?”

“Sounds perfect.”

“Great,” he said, clearly also trying to stay cool. “I’ll see you then.”

We said our goodbyes, and I made sure to hang up before grinning at Mary Margaret.

“Second date?” she asked hopefully, her expression matching mine.

“Second date,” I confirmed, and she actually squealed as she rushed over to hug me.

“I told you, Emma, I told you you’d like him!”

“You did,” I said, shaking my head. “You certainly did. And he wants a real date this time, in a restaurant, just the two of us.”

“Good! Oh, speaking of dinner, do you want to come out with David and I tonight?”

“Sure. Where to?”

“We were thinking of going to the Smokehouse.”

“Really? Tuesday night warrants steak dinner?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Well,” she said, attempting nonchalance, “we just thought it might be fun. Our treat.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What is this?”

“Will you just come with us?”

This was all very fishy. “… Okay. Sure.”

 

\----- 

 

When David showed up at six o’clock on the dot wearing a tie, I knew something was up for sure. I kept eyeing them, and they were definitely acting suspicious-- all shared glances and mouthing things at each other when they thought I wasn't paying attention-- but both of them refused to give anything away. It wasn’t until after we’d sat down at our candlelit table and ordered our food that they exchanged a glance that clearly meant it was time to break whatever news they had.

“So, Emma,” Mary Margaret said with faux casualness, “what do you think of this nail polish color?”

She held out her left hand, but I didn’t notice the nail polish—just the gigantic green gem sitting on her ring finger.

“You guys are engaged?” I asked, a bit shrill, and both of them were grinning so stupidly that I had to make them get up so I could hug them both. “Oh my god, congratulations! When did this happen?”

“Last night,” David said, unable to keep the gigantic grin off his face.

“And you held out on me all day?” I asked Mary Margaret, as that was perhaps the biggest shock of all. “How on earth did you let me ramble about my semi-date and not even say anything?”

“We wanted to tell you this way. You’re our best friend,” Mary Margaret explained, “and the closest thing we have to family here. This is sort of a… celebration dinner.”

We sat back down, and I got to hear all about how they made a pasta dinner together, then decided to go for a stroll on the beach, and how David had been planning to ask on their anniversary, which was two weeks away, but he already had the ring and the moment just felt right, and how it was all so sweet and perfect that Mary Margaret cried. Both of them were practically glowing, they were so happy.

“So how is the living situation going to work? Should I get my own place?”

“Well,” David said, “we sort of already put a down payment on a house. This morning.”

“What? That’s what all those weekend excursions were about?” I asked. “You were house hunting?”

“We were a little worried you’d be bummed; we didn't want to say anything until it was certain,” Mary Margaret said.

“Of course I’ll miss you, but you won’t be far, right? It's not like you're moving to Vermont or something, right?”

They laughed. “Storybrooke is our home,” Mary Margaret said. “And the house is actually only a half mile from the loft. Easy move, easy walking distance.”

“And I get the loft?”

“You get the loft… and some of the furniture, if you want it. We decided to get some new things. A fresh start.”

“And a wedding!” I wasn't even all that interested in weddings, but it was so different when it was your best friend's. Their giddiness was infectious.

Mary Margaret was grinning ear to ear. “Yes! We agreed to have it next year, after we’re all moved and settled. Wanted plenty of time to plan and save up. I mean, we did just buy a house.”

“You guys, this is crazy. I’m so happy for you both.”

I was. They had the truest love I’d ever seen. It was so great when two wonderful people found each other. It gave me hope for the same thing someday, even though I’d never admit it out loud.

The rest of dinner was a blur of moving talk and wedding talk, and then we went home, happy and full.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! I just want to preface this by saying I am SO sorry that I haven't updated sooner, life has been crazy lately and I just couldn't find the time. This is a short chapter, but I'll be posting the next one this afternoon, and it will be much longer and have much more Captain Swan goodness!! Thank you all for your patience, you're awesome!! :)

“Why the long face, dear Swan?” Robin asked as I slowly, meticulously wiped down the counter. It was a slow night at work despite it being a Friday—some big event in the town square—so at the moment it was just the two of us and Leeroy, a regular who was easy to please so long as he didn’t run out of beer.

“It’s stupid, honestly,” I said, realizing I’d been shining up the same spot for at least twenty minutes.

Robin stole the cloth from me. “I doubt that.”

I sighed. “Okay, well, can you keep a secret?”

“You have my word, milady,” he said dramatically, clearly trying to make me laugh. I smirked, rolling my eyes.

I told him, very quietly, about Mary Margaret and David’s engagement and their new house.

“I know it’s stupid to feel like this, especially when I knew it was going to happen. And obviously I’m really happy for them! Of course I’m happy for them. It’s just… I dunno, it’s going to be weird living alone.”

“You’re staying in the loft, right?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“When’s the big move?”

“They said they don’t want to stress about it, so they’re going to move things over a little at a time over several weeks. Our lease is up in about six weeks, so I guess Mary Margaret is just waiting that out so that it can be signed over to me without a big fuss. You know how Gold is,” I said.

Robin nodded with an eyeroll. “Mr. Meticulous. You’d think he’d not be such a stickler now that he owns half the buildings in Storybrooke. Or at least hire someone a bit more personable to deal with it for him.”

“One would think,” I said. “But they seem to have timed it perfectly. It’s just going to be weird not seeing Mary Margaret as often. I know it’s stupid to be bummed about it when I’m perfectly fine living alone and they aren’t even moving far, but it’s… it’s…”

“It’s a big change. And it’s perfectly all right to feel a bit glum about it. But look at it this way,” he said, grabbing Leeroy’s glass and refilling it without a word, “you can decorate however you want. You can throw loud, raucous parties without having to consult anyone besides your neighbors first. You can walk around naked whenever you want, the true dream.”

“You’re nuts,” I said, laughing. “But you’re right.”

“Of course I am,” he said with a cheeky grin. “Now, don’t you have a date with a handsome fisherman coming up?”

I willed my cheeks to not go red. _Emma Swan does not blush!_ I insisted to myself. “Tomorrow night.”

“Are you excited? Nervous?”

“Bits of both, actually.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “What about you? Have you asked Madam Mayor out yet?”

Robin suddenly went bashful. I couldn’t help but feel a bit smug knowing it was him in the hot seat for once instead of me.

“Not yet,” he said.

“Come _on,_ Robin. I don’t understand what’s stopping you. She couldn’t be dropping more hints.”

“She’s dropping hints?”

“Duh. She laughs at all of your jokes. You aren’t that funny.”

He laughed. “Fair.”

“Plus, come on. You’ve been talking to her and about her for ages, it’s time to make a definite move. She might think you’re just a flirt who treats every woman customer that way if you keep making her wait.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

Robin looked a bit paranoid for the rest of the night. _Good_ , I thought. _Maybe I’ve scared him into finally going for it._


	10. Chapter 10

I got to Granny’s way earlier than I should have. Mary Margaret had once again helped me pick out an outfit, which took ages, but I’d wound up in a gray sweater dress with a flattering neckline, black tights, and black leather ankle boots. She had even painted my nails red for me, but I’d already chipped the left thumb when I’d pulled my keys out of my pocket.

Now I was waiting outside of Granny’s, bundled in a red peacoat, wondering if I was overdressed, if my hair looked like I’d spent too much time on it, if my being early would make him feel bad.

Sure enough, Killian showed up two minutes before seven. “Have you been waiting long?” he asked, rushing up the walk and opening the door for me, a big smile on his face. Unsurprisingly, he looked good. Really good.

“Not long,” I said with a shiver.

“You could have waited inside! I’m so sorry I didn’t arrive sooner.”

“Don’t be,” I said, easing out of my coat and hanging it on the hall tree as he did the same. “You’re early. I just… I don’t know; I left too early. I tend to overshoot.”

The waitress, Molly, a pretty ginger-haired girl with huge green eyes, seated us at one of the booths, which already had a lit candle and a vase of flowers on it. I looked at Killian. “Did you arrange this?”

His eyes twinkled. “I may have.”

We sat down, and I realized his shirt (collared, button-down, very nice) was the same shade of gray as my dress.

“I think we may have unintentionally matched,” I said.

He looked at me, then down at his shirt. “I think you’re right. You do look lovely. Did I say that already? I’ve been thinking it since I saw you, but I can’t recall if I actually said it out loud.”

“You do know how to pay a compliment,” I said, feeling momentarily skeptical (was he good at compliments because he was out with a lot of women?) but shaking it off. _Not every man is out to hurt you, Emma,_ I reminded myself. “Thank you. You don’t look too bad yourself.”

“Thank you. I’ve been told I clean up decently.”

We both stared at our menus. “You know,” I said, “I know this is a date and we’re dressed nice and this is like a candlelight dinner… but I sort of...  _really_ want a burger.”

He looked at me strangely. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

“Lies.”

“No, I swear!”

“Burgers, then?”

“Burgers.”

That was easy enough, although Molly did look at us a bit strangely when we ordered a bottle of wine and two burger/fry combos.

“So, how’s Henry?”

“He’s great. He’s spending this evening with his aunt.”

“That’s… your sister?”

“Milah’s, actually. Her family is the reason he and I moved here.” He fiddled with the silverware, suddenly looking uncomfortable. I realized then just how much Killian was still hurting over the loss of his wife. He balked when the subject of her came up, no matter how cheerful and playful his demeanor. I couldn't imagine what it was like to lose someone that way. Before Storybrooke, I hadn't really had anyone to lose. I briefly wondered what had happened to her: car accident? Illness? 

Suddenly, his smirk was back, and any trace of discomfort was gone. “So, what’s your story, Miss Swan?”

_Oh boy,_ I thought. “Uh, well… not exactly action-packed. Orphan found on the side of the highway, spent my childhood bouncing between foster homes all over the east coast, got into some trouble, had a bad relationship and got into _more_ trouble,” I decided to save that particular elaboration for a later date (maybe never!) _,_ “and wound up moving to Storybrooke when August offered me a job.”

“Have you known August a long time?”

“Yeah… we met in the foster system. We had the same foster family for a while and stayed in touch. Same sob story, you know,” I said, waving my hand dismissively. I didn’t feel like getting into how they’d kept him and dumped me back at the orphanage. It was too sad for dinner conversation, let alone dinner conversation on a second date. I glanced up and met his eyes, and he seemed to be studying me, almost like he was hanging on my every word.

“You’ve seen quite a lot, haven’t you, Swan?”

I smiled sheepishly. “Depends on who you ask.”

He leaned in. “I’m asking you.”

“I guess so,” I said. I was feeling shy again… so out of character for me. “What about you?”

He leaned back, suddenly casual again. “Ah, I’ve had my fill. Raised all over the UK, moved around a lot because my father was in the military, joined the Navy with my brother, Liam, did my time there. Moved back to the UK. Milah and I met while she was attending Oxford, we married and moved to Boston when she received an offer to teach Literature at Boston University. I didn’t move up to Storybrooke until after she passed.”

“Quite a history,” I said, not sure whether to comment on his Naval experience or the fact that his late wife was smart enough to go to Oxford. _She must have been quite a woman,_ I thought with admiration, and a little self-consciousness. I mean, I had never been an honor student, and I had spent what should have been my college years playing Bonnie and Clyde and then being in jail. "Wait a minute... Boston? I lived in Boston before I moved here."

"You're joking."

"No! I spent quite a while there, and it was great! But, you know, a lot of history." I shrugged.

“Aye, well, after all that’s happened, I quite enjoy life here in Storybrooke. It’s quiet, and… easier.”

“Yeah, I feel that way about it, too. It's a lot more peaceful here than most places.”

“I’ll drink to that,” he said, picking up his glass of wine. I hadn’t even noticed Molly bring it over, but I picked mine up and clinked it to his, and we both took a drink.

 

Conversation lightened up after that, much to my relief. I wasn’t good with heavy talk, and he didn’t seem to enjoy it much, either. But we found plenty to talk about: Henry, working at The Wooden Boy, how cold it is being a fisherman in the winter (hint: lots of flannel and down-lined everything), how great a buddy Robin is (and how cute he and Regina would be together) and all the obvious stuff like movies, music and books (in which we had similar taste). Before I knew it, we were polishing off dessert: scoops of vanilla ice cream with chocolate syrup.

Killian picked up the tab before I could, and I thanked him and silently vowed to pay next time. He, like a gentleman, helped me into my coat, and as soon as the icy night air hit my face I realized I wasn’t ready to part with him yet.

“I’ll walk you to your car,” he offered.

“All right,” I said, feeling content that I’d parked a ways up the street. We walked with about a foot between us until I shivered.

“May I?” he asked, and I nodded, letting him put his arm around me. He was so warm.

Both of us walked slow-- like, stupidly slow. _He likes me,_ I thought. _This guy, for whatever reason, really likes me._ The realization was almost scary. Of course, I should have known it already, but it was just so surreal. I hadn't had a real romantic relationship with a man in ten years, and even then, Neal wasn't exactly Prince Charming. But here was Killian, hot and nice Killian, who liked me and who was nice to me and respected me, and actually wanted to court me, rather than rush everything and take all the suspense and anticipation out of the relationship.

“This is me,” I said when we reached the yellow beetle, trying not to sound too disappointed.

“Quite the vessel you captain there, Swan,” he said, looking the car over.

“Thanks,” I said, patting the roof. “It’s fun to drive.”

He smirked as he turned toward me, tugging at the front of my coat. “You know, Emma, the more I learn about you, the more I’m drawn to you.”

“Oh really?” I asked, hoping I sounded coy and not just confused.

He nodded, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Really. And, if you’ll permit me, I’d like to kiss you.”

“Is that so? And what if I say no?”

“Then I shall go home, filled with yearning, but with an inexhaustible hope that someday you might give me the opportun—“

I put a finger to his lips, shaking my head and grinning, and it was there, underneath the golden glow of the streetlight, that I grabbed his collar and pulled him into a kiss. _Just kiss the hell out of him, Swan,_ I told myself, _give him the goddamn kiss of his life_. His lips were soft and warm, and he kissed back wonderfully—none of that amateur, lips-being-crushed-into-teeth stuff. The man knew how to kiss.

We pulled back a few moments later, and our foreheads touched, and both of us laughed despite being out of breath. I could feel that warm tug of desire urging me to kiss him again, but I’d learned that you have to keep them wanting more. I snuck a glance up at him, and he was smiling, his eyes downcast, and he reached up to gently brush a lock of my hair over my shoulder.

“Goodnight,” I said softly, before getting into the car.

“Goodnight,” he said, and eased the door closed for me.

I couldn’t stop smiling the whole drive home.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello! Well, all my internet-lacking has come to an end, so updates should be much more regular now. We're easing on up to the crazy, people, so enjoy the fluff while it lasts! ;) Once again, thank you all for your patience and your support; you all are wonderful and I hope you enjoy!

When I awoke the next morning, warm in bed with sunlight filtering in through the curtains, I realized that since I’d started spending time with Killian, I hadn’t had my nightmare. I’d been sleeping peacefully, dreamlessly. I felt well-rested.

I got up with a spring in my step, ran a brush through my hair and went downstairs. David and Mary Margaret were in the kitchen.

“Good timing!” Mary Margaret said, taking plates over to the table. “ We were just about to ask if you wanted some pancakes.”

“I would love some pancakes,” I said cheerfully. They exchanged a glance as I all but skipped into the kitchen.

“I take it you had a nice night with Killian?” David asked, taking a sip of coffee as I got myself a mug, taking the coffee pot out and pouring myself a cup.

“Yeah,” I said, trying to be nonchalant, and then I grinned, turning around. _“Yeah.”_

“Tell us!” Mary Margaret demanded, grinning.

“Candlelight dinner. Burgers and wine.” I laughed. “Wore the same color, never ran out of things to talk about, and…”

“And?” Both of them coaxed.

“And, I may have kissed him.”

David looked proud, and Mary Margaret came over and hugged me. “I am so happy for you, Emma. You deserve this.”

“I hate to admit it, but you were totally right about him,” I told her. “He’s exactly my type, and he’s… he’s just… he’s great.”

She clapped, looking as if she were about to burst at the seams. “I am so glad! You deserve this kind of happiness.”

There was suddenly a knock on the door. “I’ll get it,” David said, making his way over to the door.

“Are you expecting anyone?” I asked Mary Margaret, who shook her head.

“Delivery for Miss Emma Swan?” said the man at the door, holding a large bouquet of pink and yellow lilies.

“What?” I was confused. Mary Margaret looked like she was suppressing a scream. I went over to the door to sign for them, and the man handed me the flowers, which were neatly arranged in a vase that had a silver ribbon tied around it. I set the flowers down on the counter, pulling out the card as the man left.

_Emma,_

_Thank you for the lovely evening. I hope these brighten your day._

_-Killian_

“Well this is just ridiculous."

“They’re from him, aren’t they!” Mary Margaret declared more than asked. “Oh man, has he got it bad.”

“I’ve… I’ve never been given flowers before.” I felt a bit bewildered. I looked up at Mary Margaret. She and David were exchanging a glance, big grins on their faces. It was infectious, and before I knew it, I was laughing. “I actually cannot believe this.”

“Well, believe it,” said Mary Margaret happily, and I set them in the middle of the breakfast table so that I could just keep looking at them. This was romantic. This was just _textbook_ romantic. I wasn’t used to being treated so well; it was almost scary.

Over breakfast, Mary Margaret and David asked if I wanted to come see their new house. I agreed wholeheartedly, and after breakfast I went upstairs to get ready. I grabbed my phone and called Killian.

“Miss Swan!” Killian greeted cheerfully.

“You are just too much, you know that?”

“So you got them! Too mushy?”

“Almost. But not quite,” I teased. “They’re beautiful, Killian. Thank you so much.”

“You’re quite welcome.”

“Do you want to maybe get some coffee later?” At this point, I didn’t care if I sounded overeager. I figured if he was sending me flowers, he’d forgive me for it.

“I’d love to. Would you mind if Henry joined us?”

“I’d love it,” I said. “Four o’clock at Granny’s?”

“Sounds lovely. We’ll see you then.”

“All right. Bye!”

“Bye.”

I hung up, and fell back on the bed. This was really happening. I was having a functional relationship with a man my own age—and not only functional, but nice! Genuinely enjoyable! That was even rarer.

It wasn’t that I hadn’t dated anyone in the years since Neal: nobody serious, of course, but more like a long string of first, maybe second dates that amounted to practically nothing. Dating in Storybrooke was harder than most places: it was a place for families, and it was small, so there wasn’t much to choose from.  I wasn’t too fussed about finding a husband or whatever it was I was supposed to do; I wasn't worried about the "ticking clock." I liked my life, I liked my friends, but it was easy to feel alone sometimes.

I wondered what it would be like if I hadn’t given the baby up for adoption. I told myself I had given him his best chance, that I couldn’t have handled a baby when I could barely even take care of myself. But I wondered, sometimes, if I’d be happier with him in my life. But above all, I hoped if he was safe, happy, healthy, and loved. That's the most anybody could hope for their kid.

I sighed, sitting up. _That’s enough._ _You’re having a happy day_ , I reminded myself. _You were sent flowers. You get to go see Mary Margaret and David’s new house. You get to see Killian later._

And with that, I was up, and getting ready.

By the time I came downstairs, Mary Margaret and David were all ready and raring to go, so we went out and opted to walk to the place. “It’s really that close,” David said. “You’ve probably already seen it from the outside.”

Both of them were practically giddy with excitement, holding hands, exchanging grins. It was heartwarming, actually. They could make the world’s biggest cynic into a hopeless romantic.

We stopped in front of a little yellow house with white trim.

“Well,” Mary Margaret said, “this is it. This is our new home.”

I realized my jaw was hanging open, and quickly shut it. The house looked small from the front, but extended far back into the yard. Flowerbeds lined the front walkway, and I imagined that when spring rolled around they would be filled with color. There was a large tree in the front yard, with branches that looked good for climbing. To top it off, it was all surrounded by a white picket fence.

“It’s beautiful, you guys.”

David grinned. “Come on, we’ll show you the inside.”

The porch steps creaked on the way up, and David unlocked the front door, swinging it open, and we stepped inside. The walls were painted soft gray with white trim: beautiful and light, without being too stark. The floors were hardwood, and creaked gently when you stepped on them, a comforting sound. The living room was spacious and extended straight back into the kitchen area, separated by an island. The kitchen had light blue walls with a white subway tile backsplash, and all the cabinets were white. There was a Dutch door that led to the back yard.

There were three bedrooms: two small, identical ones, and one larger one at the back of the house that had French doors leading to the back yard. I could suddenly picture everything: sun-soaked mornings, the pitter-patter of tiny feet, the scent of Mary Margaret’s favorite vanilla candles wafting through the air. Theirs was sure to be the most warm and inviting of homes.

“I can’t believe how perfect this place is for you two,” I said, feeling strangely ecstatic. I guess that’s normal, though, when you love people. Their happiness makes you happy.  “It’s just… a perfect fit.”

“Ugh, come here,” David said, yanking me into a bear hug, and pulled Mary Margaret in, too. These people were my family, and they were starting their life together, finally, after all these years. I couldn’t have dreamed up two people more deserving of happiness.

 

 

 

We grabbed lunch afterward at a small sandwich shop, and discussed their wedding and moving plans. Mary Margaret asked me to be her maid of honor, and, of course, I accepted.

“The thing is, we were thinking of having a tiny wedding, you know, so that we don’t have to wait so long,” Mary Margaret said.

“So... when?”

“We were thinking December?” She looked like she was bracing for impact.

“ _This_ December?”

“Yeah. I mean, really tiny. Tiny tiny. Like, maid of honor, best man, no other bridesmaids or groomsmen, minimal guests. Really tiny.”

“You know it’s the middle of October, right?”

“ _Really_ tiny, Emma.” 

I giggled. “All right.”

“I mean, after having been together all this time, I think we already sort of know what we want. Nothing too fancy. And they have an opening at the church on the 11th,” she explained. “I’ve already called the vendors and such and they’re willing to work with us. We’re only inviting about fifteen people to the ceremony. The reception will have maybe 50 at most, and will be pretty casual. We just want to celebrate, you know?”

I nodded. “Man, you guys. This is all happening so fast.”

“I know! But we’re excited. Aren’t we?”

“Over the moon,” David confirmed, his eyes sparkling.

Two months. Exactly two months until the wedding. I couldn’t stop thinking about it on the walk home, or while I was getting ready to see Killian and Henry. I was excited and a bit weirded out. I needed to start planning the bachelorette party, the bridal shower, all that stuff, not to mention helping Mary Margaret arrange things.

Killian and Henry were outside of Granny’s when I arrived, opting to walk there instead of driving.

“Hi Emma!” Henry said cheerfully.

“Hey, kid,” I said, then locked eyes on Killian. My mind instantly inundated me with the memory of the kiss. “Hey you.”

“Swan,” Killian said with the kind of smile that told me we both had the same thing on our minds. We went inside, and all of us ordered hot cocoas (mine with cinnamon) and sat down at a booth. Molly was working again, and brought a dessert menu with her when she brought our cocoas, which Henry immediately seized.

“Dad, pleeeeease?” The puppy eyes were on, full-force.

Killian pondered for a moment, then looked up at me. “Would you like some dessert, love?”

“Sure,” I said, trying not to linger too hard on that pet name. “Some pie… anything but apple.”

“You don’t like apples?” Killian asked.

“No, just allergic.”

“Me too!” Henry said.

“Really?” I asked. I’d never actually encountered anyone else who was allergic to them.

“Yeah! One time I ate an apple and my _whole_ face got red and puffy and we had to go to the hospital and everything! They had to give me all sorts of medicine and I got to wear an oxygen mask. It was so cool!”

“You were four, Henry, and it was most certainly not ‘cool!’” Killian said, shaking his head. “Scared us half to death.”

I smiled. Kids had such a different perspective on things like that than adults—especially parents.

Molly came back. “Have we decided?”

“Three slices of cherry pie, please!” said Henry.

“Coming right up!” Molly said. She seemed to be more chipper today than the last time we had seen her. Maybe it was just Henry's cheerful demeanor... his happiness was infectious. He was always so refreshingly enthusiastic.

Out of nowhere, I remembered the wedding. Two months… I started mentally going over my upcoming weekends, and then had the brilliant idea that I could combine the bridal shower and bachelorette party.

“Swan?” Killian asked. He'd been saying something and I'd missed it.

“Oh sorry, what?”

“You seem preoccupied.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I just found out that…” I stopped, looking at Henry. “Can both of you promise not to tell anyone this?”

“About Miss Blanchard and Mr. Nolan getting married? She already told us at school last Friday,” Henry chirped. “She even brought cupcakes.”

What a Mary Margaret thing to do. “Did she say that they’re getting married in two months?”

“Two _months?”_ Killian asked. _Of course he'd know what that entailed, he's been married before. I wonder what his wedding was like..._

“Yeah. Their anniversary is in December, and they don’t want to wait over a year. So I’m trying to plan this party for her and I shouldn’t be doing that. I’m sorry.”

“No worries,” Killian said, taking a sip of his cocoa, looking thoughtful. “Swan… would you perhaps like a distraction?”

I looked up at him, suspicious. “What kind of distraction?”

 

 

I could not believe I was going out on this damn boat again. Killian was grinning ear-to-ear, shouting commands to Henry as if he were shouting to an entire crew, lines right out of pirate movies. Things like “All hands on deck!" and “hoist the main sail!” even though, of course, the boat did not have a sail. His enthusiasm was absolutely adorable, especially with how he was treating his little fishing boat like it was some majestic ship, the pride of the Atlantic. I could see where Henry got it.

We were out on the water within a few minutes, and I had to admit, it was a lot less intimidating during the day. Mostly we just putted around, and I sat at the front of the boat, my eyes closed, just feeling the sea air. It was colder than hell, of course, but I didn’t care.

“Milady,” Killian greeted, sitting down beside me. Apparently Henry was driving again, but out in the open water it didn’t seem as dangerous. “Irresistible, isn’t it?”

 _Yes, you are,_ I thought. “What?” 

“The draw of the sea. The way it smells, the way it feels. I swear I could never feel as fully alive on land as I do on the water.”

“Yeah,” I said, even though I hadn’t thought of it that way. “Yeah, it is.”

“And to think, one and a half boat rides ago you were petrified of it.” The casual way he leaned against the railing was way too attractive.

“I think petrified is a strong word, but yeah,” I said, and he laughed, and for some reason the look in his eyes made me want to be honest, to spill a little bit. “I mean, I was only really put off by it because of this dream I used to have.”

“Oh?”

I nodded.

“Are you going to explain?” he prompted.

“I heard that nobody ever really wants to hear other people’s dreams.”

“Consider me the exception. I want to hear every one of yours.”

My heart did a little flutter. _God, he really likes me, doesn’t he?_

I took a deep breath. “Well, in the dream, I’m on a boat, or a ship, or something. Let’s say it’s a boat. And everything is fine, and then this storm hits: a big, huge storm that just comes out of nowhere.”

He nodded. His head was tilted slightly to the side. I'd read somewhere that that meant someone was really listening to what you were saying.

“So then, of course, the boat starts rocking crazily from side to side, and I’m holding on, but then it’s like my hands lose their strength and I fall into the water. And then I wake up.” I decided to leave out the bit about the man calling for me… that would be a bit too much to explain.

“Sounds quite intense.”

I nodded. “So even though I’d never been out on a boat, it sort of… well, it didn’t exactly make me want to jump on one. They always felt sort of… prophetic. If that doesn’t sound too hokey.”

“It doesn’t. And your fear is perfectly reasonable, I'd say. But you said you _used_ to have them.”

“Yeah…”

“When did they stop?”

“Around the time I started seeing you.”

I had tried to sound nonchalant, but when I looked up at Killian, it was as though a light went on behind those sweet blue eyes of his and made him glow at me, and he leaned forward and kissed me, ever so gently, his hand coming up to caress my cheek. He pulled back, probably since Henry was there, but my lips tingled, wanting to go back for more.

 _Go ahead and capsize,_ I thought. _It's not going to get much better than this._


	12. Chapter 12

It did get better.

I had never in a million years thought I would be part of one of those “inseparable couples.” It worked for some, like Mary Margaret and David, but I had never seen myself as one of those people: it had always seemed cheesy, and in some cases, pathetic. I’d tried it once, with Neal, but that hadn’t exactly gone swimmingly, which is why having dinner with Killian and Henry on a nightly basis was exceptionally strange for me.

The stranger part, though, was how easy it was. He was lighthearted and lovely, Henry was so fun to be around, and the three of us just fit. There was no other way to explain it. We fit.

It was a Wednesday night when we finally bid farewell to our nightly dinners at Granny’s and Killian asked me to have dinner at their house.

They lived in a small two-bedroom house in the neighborhood nearest the docks. It was painted forest green with cream-colored trim and flower boxes on the windows, and had a wrap-around porch and no fence. The paint was peeling a little here and there, but it just added to the charm. A willow tree loomed and fluttered over the front lawn.

Henry came darting out of the house when I arrived. “Emma!” he shouted, and grabbed my hand, pulling me toward the house. “Just wait ‘til you see this. You’re going to laugh.”

We rushed through the living room to the back of the house, where the kitchen was located… but it looked more like it had been hit with a tornado.

“I know what it looks like,” Killian said. He was wearing an apron, and there was flour in his hair and, in spite of the apron, dusted over his shirt… not to mention every flat surface in the room. “If you’re thinking I’m a fool for trying to cook a fancy meal for you, you’d be right.”

“He’s been in here for three hours,” Henry explained. I was trying really, really hard not to laugh.

“Yes, and what have I to show for it?” Killian asked before opening the oven and pulling out a gargantuan cheese soufflé. “My masterpiece. It may taste horrible, for all I know, but at least it looks good.” 

“I thought you said you couldn’t cook!” I said, coming over to marvel at it. Henry poked it, and it fluffed right back up, so of course he did it several more times.

“Following recipes word-for-word does wonders,” he said, laughing and giving me a quick kiss. “Now, I am going to go change and I will be right back. Henry, why don’t you give Emma the grand tour?”

“Okay!” Henry said. “This is the kitchen. Normally it is not covered in baking stuff.”

I laughed, nodding, and he led me into the next room. “This is the living room.”

The room was cozy. There was a fireplace, a large navy blue sectional littered with white pillows with gray throws folded neatly over the backs, two massive shelves on either side of the window filled to the brim with books. A flatscreen television was hung over the fireplace. On the wall behind the couch were several picture frames, and I got closer so I could see. Henry stood on the couch to point out who each person was in the large family photo (I forgot all of their names in seconds), and then moved on to a more informal picture of a clean-shaven and grinning Killian, a very small and pouty Henry, and the woman I assumed to be Milah, standing in front of the George Washington statue in the Boston Public Garden on what looked like a windy summer day.

She was gorgeous. She had beautiful sun-kissed skin, full, dark hair with a soft natural wave to it, and bright, blue eyes. 

“That’s my mom,” Henry said. “Wasn’t she pretty?”

“Yeah. Yeah, she was.”

Killian reappeared then, looking fresh in a crisp white button-down. He’d rolled up his sleeves, something I’d always liked. Sadness clouded his smile when he saw what we were looking at, but when he turned his eyes to mine, it was gone. “Shall we?”

There was a small circular dining table in the kitchen, and everything was already neatly set. We urged Henry to “pop” the soufflé, and he stabbed his fork into it with fervor, deflating the cloudlike thing into something that actually looked edible. We each took our slices. On the side, there were cups of homemade chicken soup and a loaf of sourdough bread that Killian disclaimed he had picked up at the store.

Everything tasted wonderful, and conversation was light and easy, just as it had been for the past few nights (on those nights, we’d had takeout). There was plenty of laughter, and when dinner was finished, Killian sent Henry to finish his homework, “otherwise, no dessert.” Henry obliged, and we went out onto the back porch, which had a large cushioned bench swing that overlooked their grassy back yard. Killian ran back inside, returning with a heavy knitted blanket that he handed me.

“Did you enjoy dinner?” he asked. “I’m no chef, but I think it was at least edible.”

“It was very edible,” I said, and scooted closer to him, offering him some of the blanket.

“You know, it's much too easy with you,” Killian mused. “Are you sure you’re not an ax murderer?”

“Nope, not an ax murderer…”

He looked down at me, a bemused smirk tugging at his lips. “Arsonist, then?” 

I laughed. “No, no.” And then I kept talking, for some reason. “Although I did a brief stint in jail about ten years ago.”

_Well, there it is,_ I thought.

Killian turned toward me. “You’re lying.”

I shook my head. “Nope. Possession of stolen goods and burglary. And it wasn’t even me who did the burgling, I just took the fall for my dirtbag boyfriend.”

“The things we do for love,” Killian said with mock wistfulness, then looked me over. “Imagine. Here I've been, dating an ex-convict this whole time and I didn’t even know it.” His tone was teasing, but my heart was hammering against my chest.

“That doesn’t deter you?”

“Could have been worse,” he said, a mischievous glint in his eye, then leaned in and kissed me deeply, his kisses trailing up my cheek and stopping at my ear. “It’s sort of attractive, actually,” he whispered. 

A chill ran down my spine. This was too much. _God, the things I would do to him if given the opportunity…_

Before I could stop myself, I was seizing the front of his shirt, pulling his lips to mine again, and carding my hands through his soft hair. His arms wound around my waist, and I was all but on top of him when we heard approaching footsteps through the open kitchen window and backed apart, trying to look composed as Henry burst onto the back porch.

“I’m finished with homework!” he declared.

“All right, lad, go on inside and get the dessert out; we’ll be there in a minute,” Killian said coolly, and when Henry went back inside Killian was kissing me again, hungrily, and when he gently bit at my lower lip I was fully, fully done for. After some amount of time that was certainly not enough by any means, he once again moved to whisper in my ear. “Another time, love.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said, fully flustered. The blanket had fallen off of us, but we certainly were having no trouble keeping warm.

The brownies Henry had made (with Killian’s help, of course) were delicious, especially with the vanilla ice cream on top, but I was absolutely distracted all throughout dessert. Of course we kissed regularly, but certainly never like that.

After dessert, it was nearing nine, so Henry was sent off to bed with goodnights from both of us, and we sat on the couch, waiting for him to fall asleep and making very small talk. Killian was clearly just as hung up on our moment on the bench swing as I was.

“You think he's asleep?” I whispered.

“Aye,” he said, the mischievous grin once again gracing his face, and he kissed me again, fervently, his fingertips running up my arm and then back down my back, and, after a few moments, he was on top of me, and my hands were on his back and I could feel his muscles through his shirt, and his kisses trailed down my neck to my collarbone, where he stopped, panting, and pulled back.

“What is it?” I asked.

He looked sheepish. “We really… I mean, Henry’s in the house, we shouldn’t.”

_Duh, Emma,_ I thought. “You’re right, you’re right.”

He pushed himself back until he was sitting down, and I sat up, and we both just sort of stared ahead for a few moments, catching our breath, calming ourselves down.

“I’d better go before we get any more carried away,” I said, and I think both of us were equally relieved that I’d said it.

“Call you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” I confirmed, kissing him again, just a peck, and gathering my things before I rushed out to my car, the cold gush of air hitting my face a welcome reprieve from the heat I felt I was giving off. I had work at eleven, so that gave me time to go home and change… but holy hell. I hadn’t let myself feel that way in a long time. And damn, did it feel good.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh. My. Goodness. Hello! It has been literal years since I have updated, and I am so sorry for that. This story has gotten way more attention than I had expected, and so many of you have left kudos and sweet comments that I'd really like to try and finish this story for you. 
> 
> A brief explanation for my absence: I had an idea for the plot, but then something bizarrely similar happened in the show and I wasn't sure if I wanted to just go ahead with the idea anyway or come up with something new and sort of just... never decided (and couldn't come up with an alternative I liked as much). But those I've told about this in the comments don't seem to mind if it's similar, so here I am, writing it just as I had intended!
> 
> I've got ideas, I just need to get them down and piece them all together. I truly love this story, and want to thank you all for your enthusiasm and coaxing me back here.

It was a slower night at the Boy when the door that led to the upstairs apartment burst open and August came out, fist triumphantly in the air.

“Ah, the prodigal son returns,” I announced mockingly.

“I will have you know, Emma Swan, that I just finished my fourth novel. Finished. _Done._ ” He came behind the bar and poured himself a large whiskey on the rocks.

“You’ve barely left that apartment in four months; you’d better be done with it.”

“You can’t rush these things, Emma,” he stopped to take a drink. “See, this is why you aren’t an artist. You’re too impatient.”

“Well, in any case, congratulations,” I said with a grin. “That’s great to hear. Especially since now you’ll inevitably be rejoining the land of the living.”

“What happened?” Robin asked, coming in through the back door after taking out the trash, his hair dotted with snowflakes.

“I just finished the final draft of my book,” August said proudly, and Robin full-on hugged him.

“Wonderful, mate! Does this mean we’ll see you occasionally?”

August scoffed. “Come on, I wasn’t gone _that_ much.”

“I literally have not seen you at all in at least two months,” I said with a laugh.

"Neither have I, mate," Robin agreed.

“All right, so I was holed up there quite a bit. But I assure you, I did eat three meals a day. So at least there’s that,” he said. “So how’s the Boy doing?”

“Quite well,” Robin reported.

“Yeah, a little slower on the weeknights, but that’s normal when it gets colder,” I said.

“All right, good. Thank you for taking such good care of the place while I was… 'away.'” 

“No problem,” we said in unison, and started catching him up on what we’d been up to the past eight or so weeks.

“Emma’s got a boyfriend,” Robin tattled. I shot him a dirty look, and August looked to me, intrigued.

“Is that so? And who is the lucky fellow?”

“His name is Killian.”

“Killian Jones, you remember, he was at a party at my house a while back,” Robin said.

“Oh right, of course! Nice guy.”

I nodded. I was just waiting for him to start teasing me about it.

“So, is it serious?” he asked instead.

I wasn’t sure. I would have liked to give a resounding “yes!” but I didn’t want it to come back and bite me. “There’s definitely potential.”

“Understatement of the decade. You should see the way he looks at her,” Robin said, shaking his head. “The man really fancies her. It’s sickening.”

“Oh and what about you, Mr. Goo-Goo Eyes at the mayor?” I teased him to cover up the joy of knowing that Killian looks at me in a sweet way. To my surprise, Robin, who on any other occasion would have gotten playfully defensive, grinned as if he knew something we didn’t.

“What?” August asked, I demanded.

“We had a date,” he said proudly. “And let’s just say, I think it went very well.”

“What? When?” I asked as August congratulated him.

“Last night, actually,” Robin explained. “Granny’s. You know. She wore this red dress that just… well, you’ve seen her.”

“How dare you withhold this information!” I said, and he laughed heartily, slinging an arm around me.

“I was just waiting for the opportune moment, dear Swan,” he said. “And that was it.”

“Are you seeing her again?” August asked.

Robin nodded, grinning. I hadn’t seen him look so giddy in ages, not since Marian had passed. I had known him then. We’d been working together about four months when she was in a car accident coming home from a trip to visit her friend in New York City. Robin had missed a week of work, and then come in looking completely heartbroken but very open and honest about how he was doing without it ever getting awkward, and had later asked if he could test her eulogy on us, since he didn’t think he was much of a writer. August and I had both cried: it was that good.  We’d all been extremely close ever since.

I was so glad that he was happy. He deserved it after all he had overcome.

“Well, drinks all around! Tonight is one for celebration,” August said happily, having finished off his glass, and I went head and poured a bunch of shots for everyone, including the few patrons who were scattered about.

The next day, August and I had coffee, and chatted about his book (which was science fiction and much too complicated for me to remember much about, but sounded good from what I gathered) and he bugged me about Killian, asking how we met, what he was like (since they only briefly met once), etc. I also filled him in about Mary Margaret and David’s impending nuptials, since he really did shut himself off from the world when he was approaching a deadline. He was happy for them, as was everyone I’d talked to about it. Everyone loved Mary Margaret and David.

It was nice to have August back. He was the closest thing I had to family, in that at least I’d known him a long time. He was definitely a stand-in older brother for me, giving me work when no one else would, making sure I was happy and healthy and taken care of. The few years that we’d lost touch were the years I’d spent with Neal and in jail, and when he’d found out where I was he came to visit and swore to give me a job when I got out. He was also the one who had bought me my car (which I paid him back for in the first six months I worked for him) and introduced me to Mary Margaret, and for that I owed him a debt of gratitude.

After he was up to speed, August headed back to the Wooden Boy and I went home, where I was surprised to find Killian sitting at the table with Mary Margaret, both of them with mugs of tea.

“Hey,” I said to him, confused. “I thought we were meeting at Granny’s?”

“I thought I would come surprise you… I did bring those,” he said, gesturing to a vase of yellow snapdragons, yellow daffodils, and white hydrangea. “It was a bit anticlimactic, if I’m honest.”

“He was very bashful when I opened the door,” Mary Margaret reported, and Killian shot her a look. It was funny seeing them now, having temporarily abandoned the teacher/parent dynamic and looking thick as thieves.

“Sorry, I was out to coffee with August.”

Killian looked puzzled.

“Friend! A friend. He just finished his book and I was catching him up with everything since he's pretty much a hermit when he writes.” I went over to the flowers, admiring them up close. They smelled wonderful. “God, you spoil me.”

“Well, if I’ve learned one thing, it’s that everyone likes the little things, whether they know it or not,” he said with a wink.

The front door opened and David walked in, stopping short in the doorway.

“David, you remember Killian?” Mary Margaret asked, and David grinned.

“Of course,” he said, and Killian stood to shake his hand.

“Good to see you, mate,” Killian said. “Oh, and congratulations on the upcoming marriage.”

“Thank you very much! We’re thrilled,” David said, giving Mary Margaret one of his customary love-saturated glances.

“Well, listen… David and I were just going to cook up some pasta and have dinner here… would you two like to join us?” Mary Margaret asked. Killian and I looked at each other, and when I shrugged, he smiled and said it would be lovely. 

Midway through dinner, Mary Margaret asked if I was available to drive to Portland with her that weekend because she was debating wedding dresses and figured trying them on would help her make a decision. I agreed excitedly, and she and I began planning while David and Killian asked each other about a million questions about their work. It felt nice, having my best friends and my boyfriend—he was my boyfriend, wasn’t he?—all together. It just felt… right.


	14. Chapter 14

“David, could you grab that ice chest?” Mary Margaret was calling over her shoulder as she piled out the door. Her suitcase had a broken wheel and she was struggling to lug the cumbersome thing over the doorjamb.

David hoisted the ice chest up onto one shoulder, then went and took Mary Margaret’s suitcase from her, lifting it easily and trotting down the stairs like it was nothing. She popped back in, looking pleased, then checking around in case she had forgotten anything. My bag was already in the car, holding only the necessities: an outfit for the next day, a small umbrella because rain was on the forecast, a toothbrush and toothpaste, the basic grooming necessities, and a small makeup bag. I always traveled light; in fact, I sort of lived light. All that shuffling around from house to house that I did as a kid (and, let’s face it, as an adult) had made me a minimalist. 

Meanwhile, Mary Margaret had packed a few outfit options, whatever product she used for her hair, makeup, an umbrella and her rubber rain boots, plus scarves and things. I certainly wasn’t judging—she was always prepared. It’s part of what made her a good teacher and what would make her an excellent mom someday. She thought of everything.

She came back into the living room, seeming satisfied, just as David came back in with Killian and Henry in tow. “Look who I found.”

I jumped up. “Killian! Henry!”

He smiled. “Hi, love. I just wanted to see you off. Glad I didn’t miss you.”

Mary Margaret and David exchanged mischievous smiles as my face grew hot. I was smiling like an idiot. The lovebirds headed out the front door and I went over and hugged both of my boys at once.

“Are you coming back soon?” Henry asked.

“Yep, we’ll be back tomorrow,” I said. “Just a short trip.”

“Good,” he said, seeming satisfied.

“Very good,” Killian agreed, kissing my temple. “You have everything you need?”

“Yep,” I said.

“Excellent.”

We headed down the stairs and outside. Mary Margaret and David were totally wrapped up in each other so I didn’t feel so awkward giving Killian a kiss and hugging both of them again. “I’ll see you boys tomorrow. Thank you for coming to see me.”

“Of course, love,” Killian said.

I gave a little wave over my shoulder before going over to the driver’s seat of my car as Mary Margaret got in on the passenger side. I started her up, and Mary Margaret was looking out the window at them all.

“We’re pretty lucky, I think,” she said.

“Yeah,” I said, unable to keep the smile off my face. 

It wasn’t long before we were on the winding forest road out of town, takeaway coffees from Granny’s perched between our knees for lack of cup-holders in my car, Mary Margaret reading directions to me off a sheet of paper. 

“You know we could just GPS it.”

“In these trees?”

“Fair point.”

It wasn’t a long drive to Portland, just under two hours, and we pulled up to the hotel, which was actually quite chic and modern compared to anything Storybrooke had to offer.

Mary Margaret had me pull up under the awning thing sticking out from the front of the hotel (she called it a "porte-cochère") and we got out as the valet came to take the car. The bellboy grabbed our things out of the car for us, placing them on a rolling cart, and we went to check in. I was sure it was the fanciest thing I had ever done, until we stepped into the lobby. The ceiling was as tall as the building, with a giant reflective glass wall with balconies on it: a lobby so big it was some people's view from their rooms. They had a Starbucks and a gift shop, a spa we would apparently be hitting the next day, and dozens of puffy taupe couches to sit on. We made our way to the front desk, and soon, we had our key cards. The bellboy escorted us into a glass elevator, up to the sixth floor, and down a long corridor to our room. 

The room itself was very chic: modern furniture, crisp white bedding with puffy pillows, muted colors.

“This is incredible,” Mary Margaret said.

“I feel like a celebrity or something,” I said, setting my stuff down. I almost felt out of place, with my beat up overnight bag and my leather jacket and rickety old car that poor valet had to maneuver.

"I really can't believe David picked this place out for us. I can't even imagine what it must have cost him," she said, shaking her head slightly as she looked around. 

I proceeded to examine all the bells and whistles the room provided: flat screen television with satellite, a balcony with a nice view, and the option of room service, with some seriously delectable things on the menu.

“Are you hungry?” she asked once we got settled in.

“Famished.”

We decided to go out for lunch at a little French café we had spotted across the street, having really nice croissant sandwiches. I had a latté that they’d somehow drawn a flower into the top of, and was seriously impressed. Mary Margaret had some really nice-smelling citrus tea, delivered in a floral teapot.

Afterward, we decided there was no time like the present, and decided to try and find the bridal shop that she had found, which was supposed to be just a few blocks away. We decided to walk, since it was beautiful out. It was overcast, but didn’t look like it was going to rain any time soon.

An hour later, we realized we had definitely taken a wrong turn somewhere, but just as I was about to go into a convenience store and ask for directions, Mary Margaret stopped to stare in a shop window. I came over to see what she was looking at, and there it was: a stunning white dress, simple but perfectly suited to her. The top was simple, sleeveless with a low neckline, and form fitting. The skirt was the showstopper: it was all small white feathers, which sounds outlandish but the execution was subtle and flawless. Mary Margaret’s eyes were wide with wonder. She was rendered speechless.

“Come on,” I said, ushering her inside. Tiny bells on the door rang, and a woman in a gold dress emerged from the back of the shop.

“Good afternoon, ladies,” she said. “What can I do for you today?”

“My friend fell in love with the dress in the window and she would like to try it on,” I said.

“It’s beautiful!” Mary Margaret finally managed.

“That will look lovely on you. What’s your name, darling?”

“Mary Margaret,” she said. “And this is Emma.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Catherine. Why don’t you come into the back, and I’ll pull the dress for you?”

“That would be great,” Mary Margaret said, and we followed Catherine to the back area of the store, which had four private dressing rooms, two on either side, and the back wall had gargantuan trifold mirror. I sat down and Mary Margaret stood nervously.

“Are you okay?” I asked her.

“Yeah,” she said breathlessly. “Just excited. And a little intimidated. I mean, god only knows whether this dress is in my budget, but I just had to try it.”

“We’ll find out.”

Catherine returned, dress hoisted up over her head, and set it up in one of the dressing rooms. Mary Margaret left her stuff with me and went in, where Catherine helped her change into it. I could hear them talking—Catherine was asking her about David, and Mary Margaret was gushing, the way she always did. It was very sweet.

Somehow, all of this felt right. I’d never really been into weddings, but just walking into the shop gave me this sort of rush, wondering what it might feel like to wear one of these beautiful garments, to have a special day to look forward to. I guess deep down there was a younger version of myself who would have lost her mind at the sight of all these “princess” dresses.

The door opened, and out walked a real-life princess.

Mary Margaret was watching me closely, gauging my reaction. I gave her a little nod to look at herself in the mirror, and she stepped onto the platform, turning around. Her eyes widened, her jaw dropped. Catherine circled behind her, checking to see if she needed to pin anything in place—she had a little pincushion, which resembled a white pumpkin, fastened on an elastic band on her wrist—but the dress fit her like a glove. Instead, she went over to a rack of veils and selected one, as well as a bouquet of white silk roses. She placed the veil in Mary Margaret’s hair and handed her the bouquet, then stepped back. 

“This is it,” Mary Margaret said, tears welling in her eyes.

My rational side kicked in, wanting to protect her from making any hasty decisions. “Don’t you want to look around a little bit more? I mean, this is the first one you’ve tried on.” I stood up, going over to her. It really did look beautiful on her, but I was just trying to be practical.

“When it’s right, it’s right.” She turned around, taking my hands, then looked over at Catherine. “How much?”

“What’s your budget?”

“Three thousand.” She had saved two grand, and David had pitched in another grand for her.

“It’s three thousand. This dress is was made for you.”

Mary Margaret started crying, which made my eyes sting, and she hugged me tightly with a little happy squeal, then went over and hugged Catherine. “I can’t believe it. It’s so perfect.”

She changed back into her regular clothes, we handled all the paperwork, and Catherine even decided that the veil of her choice would be included. She even called us a cab, so that we didn’t have to worry about finding our way back to the hotel. Mary Margaret was practically busting at the seams with happiness, and I was thrilled to see her so happy.

When we got back, she called David and told him the good news, and I hovered nearby in case she described it in too much detail to him (all she ended up giving him was “well, it’s white” as I snickered in the background), and then we decided to go down and take a dip in the hot tub. When she was changing into her swimsuit, I called room service and asked if they would deliver champagne and some chocolate-covered strawberries in about an hour and paid for them with my credit card: an extra celebratory treat.

We made our way downstairs and to the indoor pool area, and got lucky because nobody was in there. I took off the towel I had wrapped around my torso and stepped into the bubbling water of the hot tub. The shock of the warmth was searing at first and I nearly wanted to jump out, but when I adjusted to it it was nice, and we settled in.

“I can’t believe how easy that was,” I said to her. “Finding your dress without even trying? I mean, wow.”

“It was meant to be,” Mary Margaret said with a little smile. “This whole planning thing is actually going a lot smoother than anticipated.”

“You’re not stressed?”

She shook her head. “Not remotely. David has actually been a huge help so I don’t have to worry about every decision. I just keep reminding myself that at the end of the day the only things I really want are him as my husband and for our guests to have a good time. The rest is all noise.”

“I wish I had your cool head.”

“You will, if you ever get married. I bet you’ll be even cooler about it than I will.”

“I’ll elope, that’s what I’ll do,” I said with a laugh. “Save myself the struggle.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“I’m glad you found your prince charming,” I told her.

“Thank you,” she said. “I’m happy too! But from the looks of it, you’ve found someone very special.”

“Don’t you mean _you_ found him _for_ me?” I asked, and she laughed. “He is special. In all seriousness… I really feel like he’s different. And you know how I am. I like keeping everyone at arm’s length. It feels nice to, you know, not feel like I have to do that with him. He’s been an open book from day one and it’s sort of infectious.”

“I think he’s a really good match for you. He’s got a heart of gold, that’s for sure. The man has been through a lot and he manages to keep his wits about him. I think having Henry helps with that.”

“Henry is amazing,” I said. “He’s so smart and so enthusiastic, and you know, he’s been nice to me from day one. Aren’t kids supposed to hate whoever their parents start dating? Wicked stepmothers and the like?”

Mary Margaret shrugged. “He seems to be a really intuitive kid. He’s always helping others in class, even before they have to ask.”

I smiled, wondering how I got so lucky for those two to come into my life, and hoping it would stay.

“Stepmothers, huh?” Mary Margaret asked, and I felt my face flush. “It’s even more serious than I thought.”

She was loving this. “You just calm down, matchmaker.”

She ignored me. “To be a stepmother, you’d have to… you’d have to _marry_ someone, Emma,” she said with mock horror.

“Shut up,” I laughed, and she laughed too.

“I’m happy for you, sweetie,” she said with a fond smile.

“Thank you,” I said, unable to stop grinning like an idiot.

 

When we got back up to the room, the champagne and strawberries were waiting on a rolling cart, and we ironically ended up watching trashy wedding shows for the rest of the night, making fun of them as we snacked: a perfect end to a very nice day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiny Fun Fact: I chose the dressmaker's name, Catherine, because it's the name of the actress who played the Fairy Godmother in the show before Rumpel poofed her out of the narrative.


End file.
